


If Not For You

by thequeenmeera



Series: If Not For You [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, and have i mentioned that aegon is a stupid name, and i apologize for that, and i don't want to write battle scenes, but i don't want to make decisions about endgame stuff, but if you look closely you can see me flipping off D&D, don't care about anything happening elsewhere, i really really really hate rhaegar targaryen, i rezzed barristan selmy cuz jorah gives me the heebie-jeebies, i'll be adding more characters and relationships i just don't want to tease, i'm also only focusing on the north, i'm focusing on bran and meera, not aligned with either book or show canon, oh and BRAN STARK IS THE KING IN THE NORTH, or it's supposed to be angst but who knows how it'll end? (not me), so if i'm vague about stuff you'll just have to deal with it, some attempted angst with a happy ending, some of the characters only make brief appearances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-05-20 11:29:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14893787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequeenmeera/pseuds/thequeenmeera
Summary: The many armies are gathering in the North to fight the Others. Meanwhile there are people with grievances to be addressed, old friends and old enemies to be reunited, new meetings, information to be revealed, and old wounds to be healed.





	1. Meera I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [@theladyofhouseslytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=%40theladyofhouseslytherin).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meera hears some interesting news

# Meera

Meera thrust her trident into the water and pulled it back empty. Fish were becoming ever more scarce in the waterways though she could still catch them if she spent enough time standing in the freezing water. _At least I have practice at it _she thought bitterly. But if she stood around any longer she’d be left exposed by nightfall so she gathered her things from the tree where she’d left them and moved on pressing further south. She’d left Greywater two weeks before to search out the game that had recently disappeared from their waters and from her hunting it appeared the animals really were just _gone_. Either they’d migrated out of the Neck altogether or they’d hidden under the mud and ice and she wasn’t sure how to get to them either way. With winter upon them the plants had all died forcing the people to rely on what they’d stored away. Her people were lucky to have been mostly uninvolved in the conflicts of the past few years so most of them had food and a great deal more than what she was sure the smallfolk in other parts of the north had but their supplies were still limited and having fresh meat on hand would make everything easier.  
__

____

The days were growing shorter and shorter making the hunting even worse. Meera was used to short days and to the cold but that didn’t make the experience pleasant. The Neck was warmer than the rest of the North and far warmer still than the bitter, gripping cold beyond the wall but it was still growing colder by the day, Meera was certain that if the temperatures continued to drop as they had been the bogs would freeze over completely within weeks. With the dangers of the constantly worsening weather and the lack of good hunting she’d have to begin her journey back to Greywater on the morrow. Journeying through the Neck was difficult during the summer even for the crannogmen and even though much of the ground had frozen so one couldn’t be sucked into the mud travelling was still precarious in the winter and with so much ice it took nearly as long to traverse the waterways as it did to walk. Sometimes during the day when the ice had melted off her oar would catch on the armor or skeletal fingers of some soldier who’d drowned there centuries before. And a few times in the early morning Meera had stumbled across lizard-lions frozen under the ice, their snouts sticking up out of it so they could breathe. If she’d had a companion they could have hacked the animals out and gotten a fortnight’s worth of meat but it was too dangerous and time consuming to attempt the task on her own so she kept moving after taking note of the animals’ locations so some other hunter could find them later.  


As the sun was sinking behind the great trees of the swamps Meera finally stumbled upon a village that was made of a few crannogs set up on stilts over the water and interconnected with bridges. A central building stood between them. It lacked proper walls with mats hanging between the pillars that could be drawn up during the day and tied down when weather was averse and she was relieved to see smoke drifting away from the buildings. Moving closer she caught the faint scent of fish cooking on the wind. She approached the rampart cautiously, aware that there was probably some trap nearby to protect the village from outsiders. Before she could alert anyone to her presence she heard a rustle and the rasp of someone drawing a knife. Meera whipped around, drawing her own knife and levelling her frog spear in the other, a small man emerged from the bush. 

“Who are you?” he asked sternly.  


“I’m Meera Reed” she coughed, unused to speech after being alone for so long and irritated that she hadn’t noticed him earlier. She berated herself silently. What sort of a hunter was she if she couldn’t see a grown man standing in the trees?  


The man raised an eyebrow at her “Reed?” he asked, “How can I know you’re telling the truth?”  


Meera sighed, annoyed that her lizard-lion broach wasn’t enough “I suppose you’ll just have to trust me.”  


The man nodded “Suppose so. You don’t look like an outsider. Although,“ his eyes narrowed “wasn’t your lady mother Dornish?”  


“She was," Meera said, iciness slipping into her voice, "but I don’t see how that makes me less of a crannogman. Or less of a Reed.”  


The man grunted, relenting and introducing himself as Harlen finally lead her into the village. The people gathered in a clump, watching Meera but too wary to come near her as she explained who she was and why she was there. They at least allowed her to eat their food and stay with one of the families for the night.  


They all brought their food into the central building, curious to hear more about Meera while still keeping their distance. Their meal wasn’t filling. A few mouthfuls of salt fish and dried berries but it was better than acorn paste or moss. Better than starving. Some of the people asked her about her journeys as it had become common knowledge that their lord’s children had left the Neck some years before. Meera avoided answering their questions as best she could, she preferred to remember as little as possible about those long years she'd spent away. She instead favored listening to the troubles of the locals. Two families had lost sons to Robb Stark’s war when her father had led raiding parties against the Lannister’s supply trains. Meera could tell from the way they spoke that some of the people felt that the crannogmen shouldn’t have gotten involved in the conflict at all, even if it was to support their king. She wondered how they felt about the war to come.  


“And now they’re marching right up our causeway and we can’t do anything about it,” this statement caught Meera’s attention away from the woman who had been telling Meera about her son’s ear infection.  


“What?” Meera asked, moving towards the man who had spoken “who’s marching up the causeway?”  


The man, whose name she now recalled was Garrem shrugged “Mostly Unsullied and Dothraki from Essos carrying Targaryen banners though there are Lannisters and Tullys marching behind them. Seems they all have permission from King Jon to come north. Couldn’t tell you why.”  


“Targaryens? And Lannisters?” Meera wondered what could have been happening in the outside world while she’d been hiding in her swamp. Her thoughts started to wander to Winterfell and those she’d left behind. _Does Bran know about this? Is he in danger? _She shook the thoughts out, refusing to wonder anymore. That boy had a family and guards to keep him safe, if he even deserved it. These wars had nothing to do with her. _Unless _… “You’re sure you didn’t hear anything about why they’re marching North?”  
____

___“No my lady,” Garrem shook his head “but it must be something strange or important for the Starks to be allowing it.”  
_ _ _

___“Like the Others,” Meera almost whispered. That had to be it.  
_ _ _

___The people all seemed to be confused, worried but confused. “My lady, the Others were defeated thousands of years ago” said one woman although Meera noticed that the woman was trembling slightly. She wondered how much of her own tale had traveled to them without her knowledge.  
_ _ _

___“But they’re back,” Meera swallowed, trying to keep the old horror from overwhelming her, she’d come home so she could be with her family so when the dead came for them she wouldn’t have to abandon them the way she’d had abandoned Jojen “and I’m sure the king knows that. He served on the Wall. So if he’s inviting our enemies north that has to be the reason.”  
_ _ _

___“How can you know that?” a young girl asked her.  
_ _ _

___“Because I’ve seen them. I fought them.”  
_ _ _

The group stirred at that. Whispering amongst themselves. Some of the older folk glared in Meera's direction, and one of the younger children began crying, forcing his mother to take him home.

___“There are a lot of dead in the Neck. Just below the water that is. Suppose they rise up?” one of the men asked no one in particular. Meera felt anxiety tug at her gut, what if they rose? Perhaps they wouldn’t need to wait for the Others to march to them after all.  
_ _ _

___The villagers all looked unsettled as they parted to find their beds. Meera curled up under her blanket near the fire in the home she’d been invited to stay in, the family explained that they had lost a son to the war and another one to the swamps so they had room for her. Their two daughters slept close together sharing heat the way Meera had with Jojen on the long journey north and she’d done the same with Bran on the way south. Now though she kept to herself. Meera tossed and turned as quietly as she could for hours before falling asleep and was met with a nightmare.  
_ _ _

___She was running for her life, trying to drag Bran in the sledge behind her only he seemed to be getting heavier. If she abandoned him she might live but when she tried Jojen’s pleas filled her ears and she didn’t have the heart to leave Bran’s dead weight behind to die but she didn’t have the strength to continue either. She finally dropped him as she collapsed and was barely able to lift her head up, blue eyes glowed in the darkness coming closer and closer and she could not move. Her tears froze to her face while she threw herself over Bran’s vulnerable body. His blue eyes glowed up at her and she felt his now black hands wrap around her throat, squeezing the life from her._ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will post chapter 2 by the end of the week  
> comments are always welcome btw  
> feel free to check out my tumblr at [theladymeera](http://theladymeera.tumblr.com). Follow me, like all my posts, worship the ground I walk on, you know the drill.


	2. Bran I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran and Arya have a talk

# Bran

# 

Bran watched the windows of Winterfell blaze to life as the sun bled out above them. Most of the time he regretted accepting his old tower room because even with his chair it meant he needed help getting anywhere outside of his bedchamber but he did not regret his choice in the evenings when he was able to watch the windows of the great castle light up while the torches outside were lit for the benefit of the watchmen in the towers.  


He leaned back in his chair while he watched the world outside, hoping his headache would subside. It had been a long day. He’d had to spend nearly three hours discussing when and how he should tell Jon the truth about his parents with Sam Tarly. It was strange that he had chosen Sam to confide in rather than his sisters but the impulse had felt right as Sam knew how much Jon wanted to know the truth and he was able to come up with more creative ideas for solutions than Bran could. Sam knew more about Southron politics as well. They were worried that when Bran revealed that Jon was Rhaegar’s natural son by Lyanna and that Lyanna had named him Aemon at Rhaegar’s behest that it could create a schism between Jon and his aunt Daenerys and their armies. Sam had pointed out that they had no proof of this claim, or none that Bran would give him, so he concluded it might not be as great of an issue as that. Eventually they’d decided that they would tell only Jon once he arrived at Winterfell and let him decide who else should be told.  


The faint sound of howls erupted from the direction of the wolfswood as the moon rose. Arya’s wolf Nymeria had gathered an incredibly large pack over the years she’d spent running wild in the riverlands. Summer, Shaggydog, and Ghost had been happy to see their sister again and to join in her pack. Bran had a sudden urge to join in the howling the way he had on occasion as a boy before Maester Luwin began forcing him to take sleeping draughts every night but he was prevented from trying it because that was the moment Arya entered his bedchamber. She gave him a faint smile and nodded towards the window “They’re awfully loud tonight. It makes me want to join them.”  


Bran nodded and gave her a slight smile “me too.”  


They listened in silence for a minute before Arya grabbed his chair and pushed him back towards his bed. They were quiet while she helped him onto his bed and out of his boots. He felt like she was trying to bury him under the blankets and furs. “I think that’s enough” he said after she piled the third layer on top of him and he noticed how concerned she looked and asked her “what’s wrong?”  


She was silent for a time “you seem to better,” that surprised him. She brushed some hair gently off his face and frowned at him, “but you’re still not yourself.”  


"The Bran you knew died a long time ago Arya. I haven’t been that Bran since I was pushed out of that window.”  


"Pushed?” Bran realized his mistake a moment too late. “You were pushed? Who pushed you? Why?”  


Bran groaned slightly “I don’t really want to talk about it Arya.”  


Arya was relentless, “Who and why?”  


There was no use in fighting her over it so he answered. “Jaime Lannister” her eyes widened and she inhaled sharply “I saw him and Cersei together so he pushed me. He thought the fall would kill me and then no one would find out. It didn’t work, obviously.”  


"You saw them together? But they were often together…” it took a moment for her to understand “Oh” she seemed to be at a loss for words, “Oh Bran. I – if I’d known I could have gotten justice for you I – ” she found his hand and squeezed it “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”  


"I didn’t want to remember and I’d rather not talk about it anymore.”  


"Is he coming here?”  


Bran nodded slowly, wishing he could forget that vision and the message they’d received from Dragonstone weeks before. “Yes and he’s bringing a number of Lannister troops he gathered in the riverlands to tell Jon that Cersei lied to them. Not much of a surprise. I imagine Tyrion would have at least suspected that Cersei would lie about helping them. She’s neither intelligent nor kind enough to care about the fates of anyone but herself.”  


Arya nodded, more familiar with Cersei Lannister than he was. “Is our uncle Edmure is marching north too? It would be good to have him here.”  


“He’s marching with the Lannisters and the Targaryen forces, keeping an eye out for treachery.” Bran hadn’t seen his uncle since he was a little boy but the memories were fond; Edmure was sometimes proud or foolish but he was a good man who cared deeply about his people and Bran knew Arya had bonded with him before they parted ways, Arya heading home to Winterfell and him to Riverrun.  


Arya seemed to be searching for some other topic to discuss “When do you think Jon will get here?”  


Bran gave her a half-smile “of course you only care to hear about what your _favorite_ brother is doing” he teased “I can’t say exactly when, I can’t see the future you know, but they’re not that far away so a week maybe. Unless they find themselves caught in a storm in which case it will take much longer.”  


Arya smiled, clearly excited “that’s good, it will be good to see Jon again don’t you think?”  


"Yes I –” Bran paused, checking himself, “I suppose it will.”  


"You suppose?” Arya raised an eyebrow at him.  


"Well," Bran shifted under the layers of blankets and furs, "I have seen him… in visions and while tracking their movements with the ravens. And once on the journey North.” Bran had never really explained anything about his time in the far north to anyone. It was too painful to think about and it was hard to explain what had happened in his mind, the greenseeing, what he’d done to Hodor, the visions that had plagued him for days afterward while Meera dragged him as far south as she could. He couldn’t explain what he was or what he could do and part of that was because he wasn’t even sure about the truth. He’d often wondered if Jojen had been mistaken about him which meant Jojen and Hodor and all the others had died for nothing because he really wasn’t that important after all. He could see anything anywhere in the past or present but he couldn’t really _do _anything besides send whispers in the wind. He still didn't see much use in any of it.  
__

__“You saw him?”  
_ _

__While Bran still hurt thinking about his own past he decided to brave it for his sister. “Yes. We were taking shelter in the tower on the lake at Queenscrown so I didn’t see him as myself but I was in Summer’s mind that night and Jon was attacked by some wildlings and I – or Summer – had to step in.”  
_ _

__"Who was ‘we’? I mean obviously you weren’t all alone but who was with you? I’ve never heard anything about that.”  
_ _

__Bran sighed, bracing himself “Well Hodor was part of the group, nobody else was strong enough to carry me and then there was myself, Meera, and Jojen.”  
_ _

__“Who are Meera and Jojen?” Arya seemed to be settling herself on the edge of his bed, unwilling to move until she was satisfied.  
_ _

__“Meera and Jojen Reed. Howland Reed’s children. They came to Winterfell during the autumn, at the harvest feast to find me. That was before the Ironborn came. They escaped with me and Rickon and Osha and they brought me north, to find the crow. Jojen died beyond the wall.” He quieted, unwilling to continue.  
_ _

__“So Jojen is dead but what happened to Meera?”  
_ _

__Bran stared at the ceiling, trying to empty himself of the surge of pain in his chest. “She went home.”  
_ _

__“That’s it?”  
_ _

__“Yes.”  
_ _

__“You’re no good at lying Bran.”  
_ _

__“I’m not lying. She left, said she was going home.”  
_ _

__“And that upsets you.” Bran glanced at Arya who was staring at him, reading his face with the ease of reading a letter.  
_ _

__”Why would it? She’s safer at Greywater than she would be here. She deserved to go home and see her own family again. It was better this way.”  
_ _

__“You can say those things and they might be true but you don’t feel that way Bran I can tell. Did you want her to stay?”  
__

___Bran struggled for words and returned to staring at the ceiling shaking his head “It doesn’t matter what I want Arya.”  
_ _ _

___Arya rolled her eyes at him “don’t be stupid Bran, of course it matters.” She was quiet for a minute, searching for something else to say, “Did she want to leave?”  
_ _ _

___He shrugged “She left. She came to my chamber one morning already packed to tell me she was leaving right then. She hadn’t said anything about it before.” He trailed off into silence, his chest hurt almost as badly as his head.  
_ _ _

___Arya contemplated that in silence then asked “Did she seem to be upset about it? Or was she happy to leave?”  
_ _ _

___Bran was silent for several long moments “I might have… made her cry.”  
_ _ _

___“You what?”  
_ _ _

___“She said she was going home and that she needed to be with her family which makes sense, I understand that but then she said that I didn’t need her anymore and I suppose it’s true and I” Bran closed his eyes and swallowed hard “what was I supposed to say to that? If I told her that wasn’t true and that I did need her she’d have to have stayed with me and that wouldn’t be fair to her. And I suppose I was angry that she hadn’t told me she was leaving so I told her she was right and that I didn’t need her anymore and she… Gods Arya, you’d have thought I’d told her I hated her or something horrible. Anyway she cried. She left my room weeping and it felt like, like it did when I woke up after I fell. And I couldn’t exactly run after her and beg her forgiveness.” He stopped and blinked away tears that had started to form, he scolded himself silently for it.  
_ _ _

___Arya looked surprised at his outburst and it took a few minutes for her to respond “I’m sorry about that Bran” she whispered and squeezed his hand again. “I know what it’s like to have such a parting with a friend.”  
_ _ _

___Bran frowned and stared at the ceiling trying to remember what he’d seen of her journey “Gendry, right? I think I heard him say you weren’t happy when he decided to stay with the brotherhood.”  
_ _ _

___Arya’s nodded “he didn’t want to come with me to find Robb. And neither of us had anything nice to say. But it’s alright now as you know. Maybe if you were to see Meera again things could get better?” She lapsed into silence for a few moments then asked, “What was she like?”  
_ _ _

___Bran started, his heart pounding suddenly “What?”.  
_ _ _

___Arya looked down at him “What was Meera like?”  
_ _ _

___Bran found himself at a loss for words, as unable to explain as he was unwilling. “Can I tell you tomorrow?” he asked.  
_ _ _

___Arya huffed loudly “Fine, you can keep your secrets for a few hours longer. But you will tell me about her Bran, and about what happened to you. I think you need to talk about it.” He nodded slowly unable to deny his sister anything. Arya pressed a kiss to his forehead before she rose from his bedside and left him alone with his thoughts.  
_ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's kind of a boring chapter but next chapter will be more action-y I promise  
> Chapter 3 will be published by next weekend  
> Also if this gets a satisfactory amount of hits/kudos/comments I will write & publish a SHORT bonus chapter of some kind of fluff during the week  
> And as always comments are welcome


	3. Bonus Chapter I: Arya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya catches feelings, lol no they were already there

# Arya

Arya stood on the walkway looking over the training yard watching the men and women at work below. She was most interested in watching Rickon, who was practicing his spear throwing spears at the targets. He was very good at it, while he didn’t always strike the center he never missed the targets. It made Arya feel proud even though she had nothing to do with him having that skill. It reminded her of the days in her childhood when she’d watched her brothers training in the yard, often from the same spot she was watching Rickon from at that moment. Only then it had been different brothers in the yard, a thought that made her sad; remembering how she’d watched Bran knock prince Tommen over and how Robb had bested Joffrey at swords. Jon had been sitting next to her that day. She missed them. While Bran was at Winterfell with them he’d changed so much she sometimes wondered if he was truly the same person. He was quiet now and seemed generally calm and unaffected by whatever was happening around him and his eyes often seemed empty of life, though on occasion when he thought nobody else was looking his face would contort into one of sadness or pain. It was only when one of them was able to draw out one of his increasingly rare smiles that she could be sure it really was Bran. Robb’s absence was felt by each of the remaining siblings, even after all that time. Arya tried to avoid thinking about him too much. And Jon, Arya missed him more than she could explain to anyone. According to Bran’s judgement Jon would arrive within the next three days. Arya’s heart raced with excitement each time she remembered that Jon would be there soon, and that each minute that passed that day was one minute closer to being able to see him again. She wondered if he would muss her hair and call her little sister the way he used to.  


Little Lyanna Mormont had entered the field and grabbed a bow from the selection of weapons on one side of the arena. She practically shoved Rickon out of the way so she could shoot at the furthest target. Rickon at least had the sense not to push her back but he was clearly put off by her behavior. She didn’t hit the center of the target but she did hit the target. When she had finished shooting Rickon grabbed his spear and threw it into the center of his target. Arya couldn’t hear what was being said but they were clearly arguing. Finally Rickon stalked off and grabbed a bow for himself. He wasn’t quite as good of an archer as Lyanna, something that obviously frustrated him but he kept shooting stubbornly, clearly determined to best her. Whenever it was his turn to shoot Lyanna would stand to the side mocking him and laughing when he didn’t do as well as she did. Their competition lasted until the master-at-arms forced them to move on. Rickon had not succeeded at besting Lyanna.  


At supper that night Arya was surprised to be joined by Gendry, Brienne, and Podrick at the high table. Gendry was even seated next to her. The three guests were equally as confused about their presence at the table as the Starks were. Except for Bran who remained silent and disturbingly calm as he normally was. Arya got up and walked over to Bran’s chair, “What are you doing Bran? Why are they here?”  


Bran shrugged “Do you remember how father used to have one person join him at the high table for supper each night? I thought we could do the same thing but because there are two of you running the castle we could have two guests and I thought we might start with people you and Sansa are already friends with to make it easier.”  


His explanation for having invited two guests didn’t really make sense to Arya but she shrugged it off and decided against questioning him, instead she thanked him and told him it was a wonderful idea.  


He grimaced slightly and nodded in response. Arya was a little surprised that Bran had even thought about the ruling of Winterfell or the running of the castle. Although he never seemed to be busy he insisted that he had to focus on the larger threat of the Others rather than on being lord of Winterfell so he’d left the running of the castle and the kingdom to his sisters and over the days since Arya had gotten him to tell her about his life between their parting and reunion and the friends he'd lost he’d seemed even more distracted. After Arya had painstakingly drawn explanations, descriptions, and stories about his companions, Meera Reed in particular, Arya had gone to Osha and Rickon to ask for their memories of those folk. She hadn't learned much about the Reeds from Rickon since he'd been so young when he knew them and while Osha remembered them she was unable to tell Arya anything Bran hadn't said. From the way he talked about Meera Arya had come to believe he was at least half in love with her, though he may never admit it.  


Arya enjoyed talking with Gendry all evening while Sansa chatted with Brienne and Podrick, Bran spoke very little and asked to leave as early as he could without appearing rude, but he did that every night so it wasn't something any of the family thought to fuss over. Later when Arya had sunk into her featherbed and was nearing true sleep she dreamed she was dancing in a forest of oak trees and soft green grass there were flowers blooming all around her. She held a man’s hands while she spun, they were familiar to her but she couldn’t think where she’d seen them before. They were calloused and dirty but warm and comforting. The air around her was warm as well, _Spring _she thought. The hands were Gendry’s. It was only a dream though. She heard someone singing _My featherbed is deep and soft and there I’ll lay you down..._ before the dream faded.  
__

____

___The next day Gendry found her training in the yard. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” she asked him.  
_ _ _

___Gendry shrugged “I’m not the only blacksmith at Winterfell Arya I can take a few minutes to talk to my friend.” He gave her a warm smile and it made Arya feel warm too despite the bitter cold. They hadn’t had many opportunities to talk since Gendry had been so busy working in the forge and Arya was kept busy running the castle with Sansa.  
_ _ _

___“Well I’m finished with my training for the day,” Arya told him, “You’re welcome to come with me while I do my work.” Gendry went with her amicably, and gave them some solid advice concerning rations and arming the soldiers who were flocking to the Winter’s Town. More men appeared every day looking for shelter for their families and protection against the coming onslaught. At the end of the day when all her work was done Gendry followed her on her visit to the godswood.  
_ _ _

___“I’ve never been out here before.” He said “you know I don’t keep to any gods. And it seems like a place for the Starks, not anyone else. Are you sure it’s alright I’m here?”  
_ _ _

___“The crypts are the only place other people need permission to enter. Anyone can visit the godswood. Although people who don’t keep the old gods don’t seem to be comfortable in them.” She remembered how her mother and Theon had only entered the wood when they had to. She tried not to think about her mother. “But perhaps people avoid it now because they don’t want to disturb Bran.”  
_ _ _

___The godswood was silent that day with the exeption of the soft quorking of a few ravens. Arya followed the wheel tracks in the snow to the heart tree, Gendry followed tentatively. She found Bran in the snow beneath the tree, somehow he’d managed to make his way out of his chair and seat himself under the tree, leaning against one of the low hanging limbs. His eyes were closed and he didn’t respond when Arya greeted him and shook his shoulders, knocking nearly an inch of snow off them. Since he was clearly still breathing she decided it wasn’t worth fussing over, although she didn’t like leaving him out there alone.  
_ _ _

___Gendry shuffled his feet and coughed, “Should I leave m’lady?”  
_ _ _

___“Do not call me m’lady,” she snapped at him, “and no, don’t leave. There’s not much I can do for Bran right now, I might as well show you the woods.” They walked slowly while she reminisced about games she used to play with her brothers and pointed out some of the trees she’d climbed. They were all still standing, after all that time. Eventually they came upon the three hot pools, situated near the wall that separated the wood from the rest of the castle. The highest towers of the guest quarters were visible from the pools.  
_ _ _

___Gendry examined the pools with interest “How hot are they?” he asked her  
_ _ _

___“They’re hot but they’re not so hot as a fire. They’re used to heat the castle and people can bathe in them, though most people avoid that one” she indicated the pool Gendry was standing next to, it was the hottest of the three.  
_ _ _

___Gendry nodded, “Perhaps I should take advantage of that, much easier than heating water and carrying it to my bedchamber.”  
_ _ _

___Arya felt suddenly strange, trying not to imagine Gendry bathing, “Well yes,” she stuttered, “that’s what people tend to use them for. It’s not good for drinking. I’d have thought people would use them more now that it’s so cold but nobody else seems to come to the godswood anymore, except Bran. Obviously.” Gendry looked like he was about to say something else but Arya excused herself quickly, walking back towards the castle. She didn’t stop until she reached her chamber and splashed some cold water on her face hoping to clear her head. _What’s come over me? _she wondered. He hadn’t said anything wrong but she had still found herself feeling pulled towards him. He was only Gendry there was no reason to feel such things. She undressed and crawled into her featherbed once again hearing someone sing about featherbeds and grass in her dreams.  
_____

_____ _   
_And how she smiled and how she laughed, the maiden of the tree_   


_She spun away and said to him_  


_No featherbed for me_  


_I’ll wear a gown of golden leaves_  


_And bind my hair with grass_  


_You can be my forest love, _  
__

__  
_ _

_And me your forest lass_  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be posted within the next couple of days  
> Comments are always welcome, let me know what you think.


	4. Meera II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meera runs into danger on her return home and later is forced to make a choice.

The return to Greywater Watch was a long ordeal. It had taken two weeks to reach the village Meera had ended her journey south at but she had been travelling back north for nearly three. Greywater had moved again. She’d passed the spot where the castle had been two days earlier and tracked it from there using methods only a crannog would know, directing her little boat to the northwest, paddling quietly.  


It had been oddly silent that morning, and dark. The sun had been taking longer to appear over the horizon and falling more quickly every day. But that day the bogs and swamps were blanketed in a thick, freezing fog. Fogs weren’t strange to Meera but this one was thicker than usual, she couldn’t make out much beyond the prow of her boat, though she could see large snowflakes drifting down in front of her. As she rowed along the ice that covered the edges of the water crept closer until it began to cover the whole stream. It was then that Meera gave up rowing and was forced to get out. She stuffed her things in the boat and carried it along the shore hoping she could find a spot where she could put the boat back in the water.  


Eventually, a few more miles along the stream the ice over the water thinned and receded, allowing her to get back in the water, paddling slowly to west with the current. She thought she could see flickers of light somewhere in the fog. _Torches_ she thought. But there was something moving in the water near her boat.  


The water just to the right of the prow rippled and a head slowly rose from the water. The man must have died hundreds of years before, but sometimes the mud was able to preserve parts that would normally have rotted or been eaten by the creatures of the swamps. There was still very old, soggy skin clinging to parts of the skull and hair with it. Its eye sockets - now empty of eyes - were filled with the same blue glow that looked like stars. Blue, frozen stars. The armor that had drowned the man hung loosely over its form though nothing covered the bony fingers that it grasped the boat with now.  


It clawed at the boat trying to pull itself up and reach for her. Meera hit it hard with her paddle. A few chips of bone went flying and it lost its grip but it only took seconds for it to regain the ground it had lost. She beat it back again.  


While Meera focused on beating back the wight in front of her another one clambered up behind her and grasped her hood with its half-rotten hand and pulled her back. It was very strong. Meera pulled herself away while beating at the one in front of her with her paddle. With one hand she reached for the knife in her belt. Little good it could do though. _I have no fire_ she realized.  


Meera shoved her paddle into the water and tried to row away from the dead men. One of them gripped her left arm and pulled. She screamed and lunged to her right, swinging the paddle towards it and overturned the boat. The water was so cold. Meera broke the surface gasping for air and grabbed onto the boat, little packets of food wrapped in leaves bobbed ij the water around her. She clung to her little skin boat and tried to right it but bone fingers wrapped around her ankles and dragged her down. Meera screamed as she was pulled back under the water.  


She kicked and struggled to escape the grasp of the dead men and rise from the water. The light above was barely visible and she thought her lungs might burst from the cold alone. Something was tugging at her scalp, pulling her hair, and what might have been fingers ripped across her face. She kicked and struggled against the grip of the dead men as hard as she could, moving upward. But their armor weighed them down and their grips were strong. Meera's skin was already feeling numb, making movement harder.  


Meera thought she saw a flicker of light somewhere above her. She tried to cry for help and realized her mistake a moment too late. Freezing water filled her mouth and was sucked into her nose and lungs. She tried coughing the water out and only sucked in more. Meera kicked and coughed. Her vision began to dim and struggling became harder. She realized she was drowning.  


There was a movement in the water and more hands seemed to be grasping at her. She tried weakly to swim away but strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her up and to the side. The dead man holding her ankles pulled down but was dragged up with her. When her head broke the surface she coughed violently and gasped in air. She was faintly aware that she was being pulled away.  


The dead man let go of her ankles and grabbed onto the man who was holding her. He kicked at it until they reached the shore. He clambered to his feet and dragged her onto the shore. She was laid down on her side in the freezing mud still coughing. Someone slammed a hand into her back and she vomited water, along with what little food had been in her belly. She didn’t see what else was happening but she heard the unearthly shrieks of the dead and thought she saw flickers of light through her closed eyes.  


The men who had rescued Meera salvaged what they could of her things. When she was strong enough to sit up in bed two days later she found her knife and a few other possessions that had been salvaged sitting on the table near her bed. The maps she’d had along with whatever else they’d found had been given to her father.  


Greywater had moved to a spot that was barely more than two miles from where she’d been attacked. When Meera woke the first time, a few hours after being delivered to her father – unconscious and carried between two of the rangers who’d rescued her – there was a healer leaning over her face, cleaning and stitching the gashes that had been left on her face and neck. She told Meera she didn’t believe the wounds would scar though if they did the scars wouldn’t be too obvious. Meera wasn’t sure how to respond to that and her throat hurt too much to speak so she’d only blinked in response. The second time she woke it was to her sister Nia sitting in a chair at her bedside and singing. The song was familiar though Meera wasn’t conscious enough to name it.  


Lying in bed recovering from nearly drowning reminded Meera too much of the time She and Jojen and their mother had gotten greywater fever. Meera herself had recovered quickly and she did not suffer an ill effects afterwards. But the fever had killed her mother and it nearly killed Jojen. When he finally recovered he remained weak and sickly, and plagued by green dreams. The thought of Jojen made her heart hurt, and her chest didn’t need to hurt any more than it already did. She’d heard his last words and held him close. She’d slit his throat to end his suffering and left his body at the mercy of the dead.  


After Jojen died Bran had been all she had and she didn’t even have Bran anymore. When he’d finally woken from his visions after Jojen, Hodor, and all the Children were dead, after Meera had dragged him through miles and miles of frozen fields and forest until her legs gave out the light had been gone from his eyes. His heart was still beating, his body still warm, but she couldn’t say he was truly alive anymore. The fierce, curious boy who’d loved telling her all the stories he knew about knights and monsters or about his lessons with Lord Brynden was gone and replaced with a shell of a man. It hurt her heart to think about it, almost as much as it hurt to think about Jojen.  


She did not see her father until the fourth time she woke. It was very late and she was weak and exhausted; her lungs ached from her near drowning and she could barely speak but she had to. “Father,” she said, her lungs burned, “there’s an army marching up the causeway, I heard. Did you hear?”  


“I did,” he said calmly.  


Meera struggled to find her voice again, “Father, if the dead are rising in the Neck… then, then that must mean, the Wall –”  


Her father squeezed her hand, “yes, I believe it does. The dead wouldn’t have any power here if the Wall still stood.”  


“Bran,” Meera whispered, her gut clenched with anxiety. Who would protect him?  


Her father chose not to respond to that, though she knew he’d heard her and she was grateful. She’d avoided talking about Bran to anyone, she was still too furious with him. And she was angry with herself for being so concerned. He was safe at Winterfell, he had more protection there than she could ever give him. There was no reason for her to be concerned.  


“I’ve sent word to all our vassals and all the villages. The people are to gather in the strongest places they can and prepare for the worst. And I will be leading anyone who will volunteer north to Winterfell to answer the King’s call to arms.” He squeezed her hand again, “I think you ought to come with me.” 

Meera breathed sharply, her chest ached worse when she did. “May I have time to think on it?”  


“Of course,” he said.  


“Thank you,” Meera nodded into her pillows. She closed her eyes and sleep took her again.  


Four days later Meera paced around the castle. Greywater Watch was a castle like no other. Each of its stone towers was situated on top of a bog that floated on the lakes and streams which changed courses often. The bogs themselves were not connected so the towers were connected by simple bridges made of ropes and boards that could easily be detached from the walls that connected them whenever the bogs began to move apart. They moved often, though she’d been told they moved less often in winter. Its roofs were made of thatched reeds rather than wood like the castles she’d seen elsewhere in the North. The bogs were kept dry by a system of adding dirt and dried reeds to the floors on a regular basis.  


The center of the castle, on the largest bog, was a small godswood. A weirwood tree grew in the center of it surrounded by a number of other trees and shrubs. The godswood was not protected by walls which allowed some creatures of the swamps to wander onto it. There was a family of otters that had built a den on one side of the bog years before. A few birds had taken refuge among the trees along with some other animals of the swamps. Once Meera tired of pacing she went to the godswood. She found a seat on a fallen log near the heart tree, a crow landed nearby watching her.  


Meera glared at the crow. “Go away,” she commanded it, but it would not move for her, it just watched her with those blank black eyes. She marched over to it and slapped at it, it only flapped up into the branches of a nearby tree watching her. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?” she asked it, choking back tears. She sat back down on the log.  


She didn’t know what to do. If she stayed at Greywater she would be in command of the Neck while he was gone. But something didn’t feel right about that. Meera was no commander. She didn’t want to lead the Neck with or without his guidance. But going back to Winterfell would mean having to see Bran again and if he hadn’t changed it would only bring more pain.  


She got up and went to the heart tree. It was not the largest weirwood she’d ever seen. In fact compared to many of the others she’d seen on her journey it was among the smallest. But its laughing red face was more comforting to her than any of the other faces she’d seen carved into the trees. She knelt before it and tried praying. “Please you old gods, help me know what to do.” There was no answer. She tried again, “I don’t want to leave,” the leaves of the tree rustled slightly, she thought she heard her own name for a moment but when she shook her head and opened her eyes again there was nothing. “I didn’t want to leave Winterfell, but I don’t want to go back either. Tell me what to do.” Again there was nothing more than a rustling of the leaves that almost sounded like her own name. She stayed like that for some time and the only reply she got was the wind in the trees. Finally Meera rose from her knees and kicked at a root while she walked away. _What’s the use of praying if the gods do nothing?_ She wondered.  


“You’ve been out of sorts today Meera,” her father observed over dinner.  


Meera picked at her food, “I just got back and we’re being torn apart again.”  


“Are you going to come with me?”  


She took a deep breath, her lungs still ached a little when she did that, “I think,” she paused, waiting for the answer to come into her mind but it did not come.  


While her father waited for a few minutes eventually he gave up waiting for her answer. “I believe you left some things unfinished at Winterfell. You should come”  


Meera sat still for a moment, then nodded hesitantly, “alright, I’ll go.”  


He seemed pleased, “Good. I hope you’re prepared to leave within the week.”  


She nodded and left, wandering back to her room. She sank onto her bed, thinking hard. The thought of returning to Winterfell made her stomach clench and her palms sweat but the thought of never seeing Bran again hurt worse. She wondered if he’d changed. _For the worse most likely_ she thought, feeling the bitterness rise. She wanted to slap him or shake him. Maybe that was all that was required to bring the real Bran back. _Unlikely,_ but there was always a chance Bran could be Bran again as long as he lived. Meera wanted her friend back at least for his own sake. He didn’t deserve to continue living as that shell of a man. _And if he’s still as awful as he was before at least I can see Summer and Rickon again, they’ll be glad to see me_. 

A few days later Meera slung her pack back over her shoulders and began the long trek back to Winterfell, though this time she was with her father and four hundred crannogmen who’d come to join them on the march. She hoped the journey would bear more fruit than the ones before.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should keep on a regular schedule of posting so you can expect the next chapter by next weekend.  
> Let me know what you think in the comments!


	5. Jon I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon returns to Winterfell

# Jon

# 

The great castle of Winterfell loomed in the distance, barely visible due to the swirling snow but Jon knew it was there. He could make out the shape of the towers, buried in snow. At the moment he wanted nothing more than to eat his fill and rest his bones in his featherbed with Daenerys in his arms.  


Daenerys shivered beside him, even wrapped in her furs, skins, and cloaks she was unused to the cold and it showed. “Are we ever going to reach this castle of yours?” she asked him, shivering.  


Jon pointed at the mass in the distance, “Don’t you see it?”  


She squinted “sort of, are you sure that’s a castle and not a rock?”  


He laughed lightly, “that’s Winterfell, my love. We’ll get to sleep in a bed tonight.”  


Daenerys beamed at the thought and rolled her shoulders, “Wonderful. I’ve missed beds.”  


“As have I.”  
  


In the end it took all morning for them to reach Winterfell. The men who had marched with them spread out for miles behind them in a long column that disappeared behind mists, hills, and trees.  


The Winter’s Town was overflowing with activity such as Jon had never seen it. He was too young to fully remember the last winter, the one in which he had been born and first brought to Winterfell. The area around the town had been filled with tents, rough huts, and lean-tos, and Jon noticed great trenches being dug and timber-works being built around them. He was glad that his family had obviously taken the initiative in defending the people from the coming onslaught.  


People crowded along the road to watch the procession approach and ride through the town. Many of them cheered for their king’s return, although Jon noticed some looked more hostile.  


Jon felt the blades driving into his chest again and shook himself to get the memory out of his head.  


Finally they reached the outer walls of Winterfell itself. Jon noticed what looked like ashes and the outline of what once had been buildings just against the outer wall. He remembered that houses had been built leaning up against the walls. That would have proven dangerous once the castle came under attack, they would have made it easy for the dead to climb over the walls. Despite that knowledge he still felt sorry for whoever had been driven out of the buildings before they were burned. Necessary actions in war were never pleasant.  


As Jon and his companions approached the gates were opened, the portcullis raised and the bridge lowered. The water in the moat had frozen over and the bridge was icy.  


Worry tugged at Jon’s gut. He remembered how he’d felt when the raven arrived at Dragonstone, telling him that Bran and Arya had returned home. He’d wanted to jump in the water and swim right back to Winterfell then and silently cursed his duties as king for preventing him from doing so.  


What if he didn’t recognize them? _I’ve changed so much_ , _how much will Bran have changed_? _And Arya_? He remembered how they’d looked when he left. Bran lying broken in his bed, shrunken and skinny and so horribly still buried beneath layers of blankets and furs. His mother keeping her vigil by his bedside day and night for weeks. He remembered Arya riding away on her horse, grinning and messy, her hair all tangled. Needle had been hidden safely in her trunk. He wondered briefly if she still had it, or if she had lost the blade somewhere on her way home.  


When Jon and his companions which included Queen Daenerys, Ser Davos, Tyrion Lannister, and the scribe Missandei rode into the yard there was a crowd to welcome them.  


Jon saw Sansa, Rickon, and Bran who was seated in a wheeled chair. He noticed the wildling Osha who had looked after Rickon, little Lyanna Mormont and her sister Alysane, Lords Glover and Umber and a number of others, some he recognized and some he did not.  


Rickon rushed to embrace Jon as soon as he’d gotten off his horse. Jon picked him up off his feet and swung him from side to side while Rickon laughed breathlessly. When he set Rickon back down Sansa smiled and came forward, wrapping Jon in a quick embrace. Jon turned and went to Bran.  


His little brother had grown over the years. Jon couldn’t see exactly how much as Bran was covered by layers of clothes and furs but his face was surprisingly thin and pale. His eyes seemed to be somewhat sunken into their sockets, his cheeks were a little too hollow, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Despite his sickly appearance Bran smiled. “Hello Jon,” he said. Bran sounded so much like their father that Jon was surprised it wasn’t Lord Eddard speaking to him.  


Jon leaned down and carefully wrapped his arms around Bran, Jon could feel how thin Bran was underneath the layers, just skin and bones. “Hello Bran, I’ve missed you.”  


“I’ve missed you too.”  


Out of the corner of his eye Jon saw a blur of leather, fabric, and fur coming for him and Jon was almost knocked over when Arya leapt into his arms. “You’re back!” she half screamed, half sobbed. Jon swung her around, his heart thumping awkwardly in his chest.  


Jon finally set her on the ground and looked at her face. She looked healthier than Bran. “I am back little sister,” he said, his smile stretched as widely as possible, he pulled her in close again and mussed her hair, which had been cut to just below her chin, “you’ve grown.”  


Arya let out a strangled sob and pressed her face into his chest, “I missed you so much.”  


Jon nodded, tears burned as they ran down his cheeks, “and I missed you little sister.”  


When she finally stepped back Jon saw the sword hanging from her belt, “you still have Needle?”  


She nodded emphatically, “I lost it at one point but I got it back.”  


There was more movement to Jon’s side and spotted Sam in the crowd moving towards him. Sam stopped and looked at Jon, smiling widely. “It’s good to see you again brother.”  


Jon grinned back and grabbed Sam, pulling him into a rough embrace, “What are you doing here Sam?” he asked, releasing him with several pats on the arm.  


“I wasn’t much use in the Citadel after all, so we came here.”  


They all stood awkwardly, unsure of what to say next until Jon heard Davos cough loudly behind him, “Ah, Sansa, Rickon, Bran, Arya” he said nodding at his family, “there are some people you ought to meet.”  


Tyrion stepped forward first, approaching Sansa. “My lady wife. It is wonderful to see you again,” he gave her a broad smile, “and you have only grown more lovely since we parted.”  


Sansa smiled at that and dipped her head, “thank you my lord.”  


Tyrion then moved over to Bran and Rickon, “My lords, it’s been some time. Lord Brandon, did you ever get that saddle made?”  


Bran nodded, “yes, it worked very well. Although I was attacked the first time we left the castle – I assure you it had nothing to do with the saddle – and I’ve since lost both my horse and saddle.” He frowned, “but that was a long time ago.”  


“Who attacked you?” Tyrion asked.  


“A small group of wildlings. One of them survived, Osha. She kept Rickon safe until she was able to bring him back to Winterfell.”  


Tyrion nodded thoughtfully, and Jon took the opportunity to move on to his other companions.  


Jon reached over for Daenerys’s hand and pulled her forward, “This is Queen Daenerys Stormborn.” Sansa curtsied gracefully, Rickon and Arya smiled, Bran only nodded. Jon shuffled his feet and squeezed Daenerys’s hand tighter, “Daenerys is my queen, and my betrothed.”  


This announcement caused a stir among the crowd. Sansa gasped, Arya raised an eyebrow, Rickon smiled broadly, and Bran frowned though after a moment they recovered and Sansa looked at Daenerys, giving her a wide smile and said “I hope you are very happy together brother, your grace.”  
  


The rest of the introductions took some time. Jon was introduced to the Blackfish, lady Catelyn’s uncle, and Arya’s friend Gendry who had been put to work as a blacksmith, among others who had come north with her.  


Jon had some difficulty introducing his allies to the family because of the difficulty pronouncing some of the names and his lack of familiarity with most of them. His sisters treated their new allies with kindness, Rickon seemed unsure of himself and often stumbled with his words, and Bran who had always been bright and cheery as a child was polite, though cold.  
  


That night Jon hosted a feast for his family, the lords, and their new friends. In general the northern lords and ladies seemed cheery albeit suspicious of their new allies. Jon tried talking with his siblings but Bran who was seated just to Jon’s left was reticent and distracted by his own thoughts, Sansa talked happily but it was so loud they were having difficulty hearing each other and Arya and Rickon were both simply too far away from them to try having a conversation so Jon had only Daenerys to talk to for the evening.  


Bran left the feast early, excusing himself with claims of being tired though Jon thought it might have more to do with how loud it had become and the dancing that had begun below the dais.  


Arya took the opportunity and pulled her chair next to Jon’s. “Hello,” she said, grinning at him.  


Jon grinned back at her and reached over to muss her hair again, “Hello you.”  


“I want to hear about what you’ve been doing all these years,” she said, “I heard – or I’ve been told – that you tried to desert the Night’s Watch to save me. Or Jeyne, but you thought it was me. Is that true?” Her grey eyes shone with unfallen tears.  


Jon nodded slowly, “yes, it’s true. But it’s alright now. I’m alive, you’re alive and we’re together again.”  


She pursed her lips but nodded, “yes we are at last.”  


They talked for a long while. He gave her a brief summary of his time in the watch and among the wildlings, and what had happened after he left to retake their home. Arya was more reticent than she had been as a child. She avoided describing too much of her wanderings, especially when she mentioned the time she’d spent in Braavos. No matter how much Jon cajoled her she would not give him any more details other than that she had lived there for some time and had come back by way of the Riverlands where she had met her uncle Edmure and her great-uncle Ser Brynden and fallen back in with her friend Gendry.  


Eventually, as the candles burned low she excused herself for bed and they both left. The hall was empty except for the servants who were busy cleaning and a handful of drunken warriors who had been caught up in some game.  


Jon was on his way to join Daenerys in her bedchamber when he ran into Sam.  


“Jon,” Sam said, “your brother needs to speak with you.”  


“Which brother?”  


“Bran, he says it’s very important that he speak with you now.”  


Bran was seated in his chair by the window, staring at the darkness without. A fire crackled in the hearth to one side of the room and there were iron bars stuck into the walls. They seemed to be set too close together for Bran and they appeared to have been partially melted at some point. He hadn’t come to that room since retaking the castle but he could assume from their appearance that they had been set into the walls before the ironborn came.  


There was a chair by the fire which Jon took, Sam remained standing, watching the brothers. They waited patiently for Bran to look up and when he did he glared at Jon, “It took you long enough to get here.”  


Jon shifted awkwardly in his seat, “I didn’t know you were waiting for me.”  


“I know that,” Bran sighed and ran a hand through his hair, mussing his thick auburn locks, “but this is important Jon. Especially for you.”  


Jon raised an eyebrow, “what’s important Bran?”  


“Some things are… difficult to explain,” Bran paused and looked Jon in the eye, “I need you to trust me.”  


“Trust you? About what?”  


Bran took a deep breath and looked down at his twitching hands, he smoothed the fur that had been laid over his legs and finally looked back at Jon. “We need to talk about your mother.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may post chapter 6 mid-week in which case I'll post chapter 7 next weekend but if chapter 6 takes too long I'll continue on the regular schedule.  
> Comments are very much appreciated, I'd love to hear your thoughts.


	6. Bran II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran drops the truth bomb

# Bran

# 

Bran hadn’t meant to be so confusing. Understanding greensight was difficult even for him and he knew it would be more difficult for anyone else to believe him. He couldn’t make Jon fly like he could and Bran didn’t believe telling Jon his own secrets would be helpful. After all he’d avoided watching as many of them as he could. It took several minutes for Bran to even begin to explain – luckily he didn’t have to explain skinchanging.  


Finally Jon grew frustrated enough to interrupt, “You said you wanted to talk about my mother Bran,” he said, his dark eyes were full of curiosity, and dread, and suspicion.  


“Right,” Bran conceded, “I saw your mother in a vision once. I saw her give you to my father.”  


Jon’s eyes filled with a cautious hope, “Is she alive?” he asked quickly.  


Bran shook his head dejectedly, “No Jon, I’m sorry. She died just after she gave birth to you.”  


“So,” Jon swallowed hard, “who was she then? Some camp follower I suppose.”  


“No Jon, she –”  


“Was she a lady then? Did father love her?”  


“Yes. My father loved her with all his heart.”  


Jon’s eyes were full of hope that died as he came to another conclusion “but father didn’t want me, did he?”  


Bran sighed, it was time to end this game, “Your father wanted you Jon, I’m not sure about your mother. And my father wanted to keep you safe from Robert.”  


Jon looked confused “Wait, what do you mean _my _father and _your _father?”  
____

___“Because you are not my father’s son at all. You’re –”  
_ _ _

___“What –”  
_ _ _

___Bran placed a hand on Jon’s arm, “Your mother was _Lyanna_ , Jon. Your father was Rhaegar Targaryen.”  
_ _ _

__Jon stood up suddenly and stalked over to the window, breathing harder than normal. Bran stayed silent, watching him. “Lyanna –” he stammered, “Rhaegar?” Jon shoved scarred fingers through his hair and spun around pacing back to the fire and stood over Bran who was beginning to feel intimidated, “how can you know that?”  
_ _

__Bran tried to maintain eye contact, “I told you, I’m a greenseer. I saw it happen.”  
_ _

__“Can you prove any of this?”  
_ _

__“No, Jon I can’t,” Bran reached for Jon’s arm again and held tight, “think on it,” he encouraged, “You’ll know it’s true.”  
_ _

__Jon’s jaw tightened, “But you can’t prove any of this.”  
_ _

__“Everyone who was there is dead now.” Bran sighed, “except perhaps Howland Reed.”  
_ _

__“Who?”  
_ _

__“Howland Reed, lord of the Neck.”  
_ _

__“Then I’ll send for him.”  
_ _

__“No, Jon,” Bran paused, searching for the right words, “even if you could get a message to Lord Howland why would anyone believe him?”  
_ _

__“Bran, have you not thought that maybe I would like to hear his account for myself? Not for the lords of Westeros.”  
_ _

__“I still think you should leave the Reeds be.”  
_ _

__Jon sat back down and looked at Bran sharply, “And why should I do that, Bran? They should have come to Winterfell already to swear fealty and they haven’t.”  
_ _

__“And did you send for them before?” Bran asked pointedly.  
_ _

__Jon looked at his feet, “No, I did not think of it.”  
_ _

__“I just think we should wait until the war is done to fuss over this.”  
_ _

__Jon stood again, “it’s not your decision to make brother,” Jon rubbed at his eyes, “or cousin, I suppose.” Jon made his way to the door.  
_ _

__“Wait, Jon. There’s something else.” Jon paused, standing in the open doorway and looked back. Bran had never really been frightened of his brother before but he was now. “Your mother, before she died, she named you Aemon. It was Rhaegar’s idea before he left for the Trident.”  
_ _

__Jon’s eyes widened, “Aemon?”  
_ _

__Bran nodded, “Aemon. Of course you don’t have to use it, I just thought you should know.”  
_ _

__Jon left, shutting the door soundly behind him. Bran felt the loneliest he had in some time. " _He had a right to know the truth_ " Bran assured himself. And he had forgotten to tell Jon the other parts. How Rhaegar had tricked Lyanna, used her and left her alone in Dorne without friends or word of what had happened to her family though she’d been able to guess at the truth. Though he supposed Jon would already know some of those things.  
_ _

__Bran held his head in his hands and took a shaky breath before he realized that Sam was still in the room. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked.  
_ _

__Sam shuffled his feet, “There wasn’t anything for me to say.”  
_ _

__“You don’t have to stay with me, you know.”  
_ _

__Sam nodded and hurried out of the room, back to the room he shared with Gilly and little Sam.__  
  
  


__When Arya pushed Bran out to the godswood the next day Jon was there waiting for him. Jon reminded Bran so much of his father it hurt his heart a little to look at him. Jon was sitting on the boulder their father used to sit on, cleaning Longclaw in just the way their father had cleaned Ice, and scowling. While Jon was well dressed his movements were slow and there were dark circles under his eyes and his hair hung limply around his face. Bran could almost hear Arya smile at Jon as they approached and Jon smiled up at her, “Good morning, little sister” he said brightly, but his demeanor darkened when he looked at Bran and he only nodded his acknowledgement. Bran hated that he’d caused his brother pain – Bran had stayed up most of the night and at some point had determined to continue thinking of Jon as his brother. They’d been raised as brothers anyway.  
_ _

__Arya stopped Bran’s chair in front of Jon, “You look tired,” she said.  
_ _

__“Didn’t get much sleep,” Jon said quietly.  
_ _

__Bran tried awkwardly to move himself towards the tree and away from Jon’s gaze for a moment but Arya was still holding onto his chair. Jon spoke again, “Arya, may I speak to Bran alone?”  
_ _

__She raised an eyebrow, “Of course,” she said and she walked away in the direction of the gate though Bran suspected she didn’t wander far.  
_ _

__“I’m still not sure if I believe you,” Jon began, “but it makes some sense.”  
_ _

__“Because it’s true.”  
_ _

__Jon shook his head, “If Lord Howland really did witness my birth we ought to send for him, any witness is more believable than a vision, Bran.”  
_ _

__Bran hesitated, “I’m not even sure if he’s still alive, Jon.”  
_ _

__Jon set Longclaw aside, “And I think you’re lying.”  
_ _

__Bran stared down at his dead legs, “I just don’t think we should bother the Reeds,” he mumbled.  
_ _

__“Well it looks like I’ll have to, could you at least look for Greywater so I’ll know where to send the messenger?”  
_ _

__Jon didn’t wait for an answer and pushed Bran over to the tree – Bran had explained it was easiest to use greensight near the trees – and waited while Bran plunged into the memories of the earth.__  
  


__Bran was flying, floating over the North for a moment. He saw a strange castle hidden amongst trees and slow-moving streams, now mostly frozen over. It was floating on top of small brown islands. But that was not what he was looking for. He found Lord Howland somewhere else. Near a ruined fortress and a causeway. An army approached it from the south, he’d seen that before but now he noticed the others approaching from the other sides. They were slow but they did not rest, and their glowing blue eyes sent shivers down Bran’s spine even if they couldn’t harm him. He watched the two groups moving closer and closer to the ruins. Bran’s mind was filled with flurries of snow and fire before he came back to himself with a gasp.  
_ _

__Jon shook Bran’s shoulder gently, “What’s wrong?”  
_ _

__Bran shifted in his chair, he felt stiff and tired. “You won’t need to send a messenger,” he said, his throat felt dry and he realized the search had taken longer than he thought as the sun was now high in the sky, “Lord Howland is already on his way.”  
_ _

__Jon patted Bran’s shoulder, “Alright then.” He wandered off, to the kitchens or his bed or elsewhere Bran couldn’t say but that wasn’t his concern.  
_ _

__Bran looked back at the tree and breathed deeply, letting himself sink back into the vision. He’d seen someone else when he searched for Lord Howland. He hadn’t dared look for Meera before, it was too close to spying and it felt wrong, but he needed to see this.  
_ _

__The ancient fortress rose out of the swamps, on the North side there was a great road of dirt and stone but on the south it turned to planks of wood. Only three towers remained, two were leaning dangerously, though he’d heard they were still sound, and only a small section of the ancient curtain wall remained standing. Though Bran noticed new timberworks along the edges. There was a deep moat surrounding it, filled with lizard-lions hunting the fish in the moat or waiting for flesh to fall in for them.  
_ _

__A great host was marching up the planks from the south, many were horsed. Banners floated amongst them. Many were black, some red, others blue and red. He saw faces amongst them he hadn’t wished to see, he’d seen them marching when he’d looked before but they were closer now. Arriving at the fortress that was only occupied by ghosts. But to the North the dead approached. The Others that lead them had brought only a small host, most were riding dead horses and Bran thought he saw what might have been spiders, great blue spiders that seemed to be made of ice.  
_ _

__They’d only needed a small host as every man they killed would join their ranks. The two groups clashed, killing with vigor. Some of their number fell into the moat. He saw dead men being torn apart by lizard lions though a few of the creatures may have been turned in their turn.  
_ _

__The battle seemed more desperate now, dead men rose from the sides of the causeway where they could. And to the west there was another group moving swiftly towards them. That was where he’d seen Lord Howland. And her, Meera. Bran’s heart raced and his stomach churned while he watched her move closer to the dead and the danger, spear in hand.  
_ _

__He closed his eye and returned to the godswood, breathing hard. He felt almost as if some giant had grabbed him and was squeezing his chest. " _Keep her safe_ , _you old gods_ " he prayed quietly. He doubted the gods would listen.  
_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, when you put two drama queens in a room together they're going to dance around the real topic of conversation for a bit. I didn't even get to include half of the Rhaegar hate I wanted to include. Maybe it'll come out later, who knows.  
> I'm working on chapter 7 and will publish it this weekend.  
> Let me know what you think!


	7. Jaime I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime meets the Others

# Jaime

# 

The crumbling towers of Moat Cailin rose up out of the freezing fog. It had been oddly quiet all morning and the fog was horribly cold. A large snowflake landed on Jaime’s face, and more fell in his hair. He shivered and pawed his worn travelling cloak closer with his hand. Jaime had always hated the cold and he silently cursed the Starks for convincing him to come to their lair, almost certainly to die in the cold with the snow swirling around as his life-blood rushed out of him.  


If it was any comfort, the men around him did not seem to enjoy the weather any more than him. Most of them were bundled in as many layers as they had; covered in furs, cloaks, and leather with strips of cloth wrapped around their faces. The few men who had come from the Reach and Dorne were the most bothered, many were shivering violently and several had died from the cold in a storm three days earlier.  


As they passed through the gates and behind the ancient curtain wall the world seemed to be even more still. Jaime felt on edge, as if something might come rushing out of the fog at them, he knew by now that no matter how much any other man hated him, if they hadn’t killed him by now they would not in the future. And the dead were still beyond the Wall. Some of the horses were acting nervous though, neighing and shifting beneath their riders. _Perhaps it’s those lizard-lions in the moat_ , he thought.  


__The fog seemed to thicken in front of them and the weak light that was able to filter through it appeared to dim. Jaime rolled his shoulders and blinked hard. The air was so cold now that Jaime’s lungs hurt when he drew breath. He wondered if his eyes could freeze in their sockets.  
_ _

__Ahead of them, Jaime saw something moving in the mist. Strange shapes, some large and some small, moving slowly towards them. He could have dismissed that, seeing shapes in a fog only he could hear the sound of movement as well. Thumping of feet, the sharp whack of metal bouncing on a rock. Jaime looked harder at the mass ahead and for a moment he thought he was seeing things wrong. _How can the stars be out at this time_? he wondered. Then he realized those were not stars at all.  
_ _

__Frightened horses began to shy away. Rearing, bucking, screaming. Anything to get away from the dead things that approached. While the front lines of Vale knights backed away, organizing for a charge, trying to light the torches they all carried for safety there were ranks of Dothraki already charging, flowing around the knights and foot soldiers, sweeping ahead to draw first blood. They plunged into the mass of dead things, hacking and slashing with their curved arahks and other assorted weapons. It was to little avail. The dead could not be killed by steel alone. “Fire!” someone shouted, “We need fire.”  
_ _

__The rest of them scrambled to find their torches and light them. Another man had to light Jaime’s torch for him. He cursed Vargo Hoat for the thousandth time for reducing him to nothing but a torch-bearer. Although as he looked ahead at those already locked in combat he supposed that was not the worst thing to be here.  
_ _

__Those on the front lines were doing all they could to hold the dead at bay. Slashing and hacking at the corpses, cutting them into as many pieces as they could and trampling others. But it was rarely enough. Sometimes when the dead fell it only allowed them to reach up and rip out a horse’s entrails with fingers of bone.  
_ _

__Jaime rode to the fringe of the fight, holding his torch aloft and he shouted a battle cry, he wasn’t paying attention but it sounded like “Brienne!” or “Honor!” His torch collided with the half-rotted face of some dead knight. It burned up like dry grass.  
_ _

__He rode on, lighting as many of the fallen as he could the way a servant scurried to light the candles in Casterly Rock when the shadows grew long. The fighting had been going on for the better part of an hour when Jaime saw something especially strange. A man appeared out of the mist.  
_ _

__He was more beautiful than Jaime had ever been in the flower his youth. Long, pale hair flowed down his back and contrasted with beautiful black armor that encased his slim frame. The armor glittered and reflected the light of Jaime’s torch in a way that steel did not. It looked like ice. His face was comely as well, with milk-white skin and blue eyes that glowed out of the dark fog. Jaime glanced down at the creature’s steed and squirmed. The Other rode on a spider as large as the great hounds king Robert had used for hunting boars. The spider was blue as well and each of its many eyes glowed. It clicked its pincers together and scurried towards Jaime.  
_ _

__Jaime’s horse reared in fright and nearly threw him out of the saddle. He was barely able to keep his seat and kicked the frightened beast, jerking the reigns to get out of the way. The Other followed him, it blue eyes were cold, glittering with what Jaime thought might be hate, or disdain.  
_ _

__They stopped in a clearer area, there was fighting all around but no-one trespassed into this silence. _I am a knight_ , Jaime thought defiantly, _and I will die a knight_. He threw his torch to the ground and drew Widow’s Wail which had been hanging useless at his side for so long now.  
_ _

__The spider scurried forward and the Other swung its own blade. Jaime blocked the blow, though it glanced off and he saw it scratch his horse’s shoulder. The animal shuddered and screamed in fright beneath him. Jaime blocked another blow, and another and another. Blocking, always blocking.  
_ _

__Jaime’s arm was already tired and sore and he was still unskilled in fighting left-handed. He parried another blow and stabbed down towards the Other’s head and missed. The blade of ice plunged into his horse’s side and Jaime flung himself to the right, away from the dying animal. The spider walked over it and Jaime struggled to his feet. He raised his sword and stood his ground.  
_ _

__He swung with all his might, slashing at the creature’s many legs. He struck true. An unearthly sound escaped between its pincers and the wounds on the three legs Jaime had managed to hit smoked. It began to _melt _but Jaime did not have time to look at it because the Other had dismounted and swung its blade at him. He blocked it with his gold hand, the metal making a strange noise as it was struck. He stabbed again and blocked with his gold hand.  
___ _

___For a few moments it seemed he was gaining ground. His blood rushed and his mind focused only on what was right in front of him. Block and thrust, block and swing. “Brienne!” he shouted, more clearly than he had the first time and he struck the Other’s icy armor. His blade bounced off of it. He was falling now, his arm hurt. It was the end, he knew.  
_ _ _

___A small shadow appeared in the side of his vision. The Other let out a shriek that made Jaime’s ears ring and it began to melt in front of him. A hand appeared in front of him, and he grabbed it. “Brienne?” He sputtered. But that was wrong, this could not be Brienne. The person before him was small and slim, dressed in an assortment of leathers, furs, and were those _bronze_ scales? And they were holding a short spear tipped with dragonglass. They moved a cowl out of their face – it was a woman who’d saved him, Jaime realized.  
_ _ _

__He stared at the girl for a moment before he came back to his senses and dipped his head in respect, “I thank you, my lady,” he said stiffly.  
_ _

__She nodded back at him and said “You’re welcome, Ser” and started to move away.  
_ _

__“Wait,” he said, grabbing her arm to stop her. “What’s your name?”  
_ _

__“I’m Meera Reed,” She said before wrenching free of his grasp and running off, back into the fight.  
_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, Deus Ex Machina, completely gratuitous scene, I'm totally adding all this for the Drama TM.  
>   
> I have to admit that after this chapter the outline is much less clear, especially in terms of the Endgame for the series, so it's going to be harder to write but I plan on keeping with my regular posting schedule.  
>   
> (The Shrek version of Holding Out for a Hero was my editing music for this chapter, I feel like that might have affected it)  
> Let me know what you think in the comments below!


	8. Meera III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meera meets new people as they travel North

# Meera

# 

  


They had been attacked three more times on the kingsroad. Each attack had taken its toll on the men. Cold and hunger just weren’t enough to suffer on the journey, Meera mused.  


Aside from the attacks Meera rode in good company and in relatively good spirits with the other crannogmen. The rest of the men avoided their group as much as possible, Meera didn’t mind it so much as it gave her time to think. Although she had to stop her mind from going back to the day she’d left Winterfell and imagining what might have happened if she’d slapped Bran for being so cold.  


On some nights Meera’s father was invited to join the other lords and commanders for supper in a great command tent that she believed belonged to Lord Edmure Tully. That night Meera huddled in a corner far separated from the men and picked at her stew. The tent was crowded with lords, most of them hailed from the Riverlands and the Vale, along with Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer and a pair of knights or lordlings with him, a few Dothraki men completed the group.  


One lord eventually moved over to talk to the two crannogmen huddled in their corner. He was rather tall, much taller than they were and his face looked oddly familiar up close though Meera could not pinpoint why. “Hello,” he said with an amicable smile and dip of his head, the point of his bushy red beard brushed against the armor on his chest. The low firelight made the trout insignia on his breastplate shimmer lightly. _Tully_ she realized, that must be why he looked familiar, _because he looks like Bran_.  


Lord Edmure shifted awkwardly, “I realize I’ve been rude my lord, my lady, by not welcoming you into my…” he struggled for the right word for a moment, “tent.”  


Her father introduced them and she was stuck for the next half an hour listening to Lord Edmure describing his feat. He appeared to have accomplished a great deal since being released from the Twins from chasing the remaining Lannisters and Freys out of his own halls to settling the violent dispute that had overtaken House Frey since the death of old Lord Walder and a number of his sons.  


After some time of listening to Lord Edmure carry on about the dispute over castle Darry the Kingslayer approached them. Meera had not realized who he was when she’d saved him, she’d only seen a man in danger and an Other that needed to die. She knew enough about the Kingslayer from her father to know he was not a man to be friendly with.  


He was a rather handsome man though, dirty and scarred, with his golden hand stuffed in a glove but even underneath that it was clear to her why the man’s looks were so far praised. His teeth were noticeably whiter than most mens’ and when he smiled down at Meera she felt her face grow hot against her will. “Lord Howland Reed, I seem to recall,” he said, grinning at them.  


Her father nodded, “Kingslayer,” he said quietly.  


The Kingslayer’s face went dark, “Ah, yes. Of course you would not forget, you and old Ned Stark were always cut from a similar cloth. Though you seem to have been better at living.”  


Lord Edmure turned on the Kingslayer, “And what,” he said seething with obvious anger, “might you intend to start here?”  


“I was speaking to Lord Howland,” he replied nodding towards her father, “and isn’t it time you start giving me the benefit of the doubt. I am not your prisoner anymore.”  


“That was my sister’s mistake. You ought to have lost your head, not your hand.”  


The Kingslayer raised an eyebrow, “For which crime?”  


“Does it matter which one? You betrayed your king, stabbed him in the back.”  


“My finest act,” the man said with obvious pride.  


Lord Edmure moved backward in disgust, “Or do you expect me to forget the threats you’ve made against my child? Or how you tried to kill my nephew.”  


Meera stood, “What – What nephew?”  


Lord Edmure turned back towards her, “he pushed my nephew Brandon out of a window, he crippled the boy.”  


“It was him or my own family,” the Kingslayer defended himself.  


Meera turned away quickly, ducking out of the tent and into the howling wind and pelting snow outside. She felt hot and dizzy and she hadn’t drunk nearly enough wine for that to have been the cause, it was the anger. She clenched her fists and wandered in the snow, waiting for the fog in her mind to clear.  


_Oh Bran_ , she thought, remembering the sweet young boy she’d met at the harvest feast so long ago. The one who’d sent her and Jojen a slice off the aurochs and stew and sweets, the boy who’d stared at her and blushed when she’d caught him staring. He’d been condemned to a lifetime of helplessness and pity for the crime of catching others in their crimes.  


_Why didn’t he tell me?_ they had had years to talk and they had, about nearly every subject. Over their time travelling and then being trapped in that cave but there were a few topics that had never been broached. They’d rarely spoken of her family, or of his parents, and they never talked about his fall apart from the times Jojen would make Bran tell them about his dreams.  


Meera avoided the Kingslayer as much as possible, which was easy considering that the Crannogs kept away from others and others kept away from them. But three days later as they were riding up the kingsroad the man reined up beside her and nodded at her, “My lady,” he said, “I never had the chance to thank you for saving me.”  


Meera looked away, “I –”  


“You didn’t realize it was me you were saving,” he finished for her, “You all hate me, I know that very well.”  


She nodded stiffly, “I might have saved you anyway, no use in letting another man join the dead.”  


“‘Might’ is not ‘would,’ my lady.” When she did not respond he continued, “I hope you do not plan on killing me.”  


“I do not plan on killing you, Ser.”  


“I suppose that’s some comfort,” he snapped his reins and moved ahead of her so she had to see him. “What have I done to make _you_ hate me so, my lady?”  


Meera did not wish to speak to the Kingslayer but he was persistent, so she glared at him, “You tried to kill a child.”  


He nodded, “I am well aware of that, and he would not die.”  


“I know.”  


He raised an eyebrow, “Do you know him?” He continued before she could answer, “Likely not, you’re a little crannog woman. Have you even been outside of your bogs before?”  


“As a matter of fact I have.”  


He seemed almost amused, “You Northerners are all alike, so bloody loyal to men you often haven’t met.”  


“House Stark has always been good to us,” Meera said stiffly.  


“Ah, good. How so? Do they truly help you or are you left to fend for yourselves?”  


Meera glared at him, “They have given us aid when we needed it. For thousands of years.”  


He seemed unaffected by that, “Still, I don’t see why you should love them so. They don’t appear to have done anything for you.”  


She shook her head, “I do not believe love is the correct word.”  


“Loyalty requires love,” he said with conviction.  


“Or honor.”  


He scoffed, “Honor? What do you know of honor?”  


“More than you,” she snarled.  


“You are angry with me for making assumptions about you, but you make many about me.”  


“What sort of man can break his oaths, betray his king, or murder children and call that honorable?”  


“Me,” he said firmly then stared at her for several long seconds, “Have you ever taken any oaths, my lady?”  


She stared ahead of them again, _by bronze and iron, ice and fire,_ “A few.”  


“A few? That’s descriptive,” he scoffed, “I’d wager you haven’t made any.”  


“You’re wrong.”  


“Well then, have you ever been asked to do something by whoever you swore an oath to that you didn’t want to do? Or that went against your other oaths?”  


Meera breathed deeply, she saw the life draining from Jojen’s eyes, the blood pouring from the cut she’d made, “Yes.”  


“And did you do what you were told?”  


_Go_ he’d said with a horrible tremor in his voice and tears on his face, Jojen never cried. She tightened her jaw, “Yes.”  


“Then you are not better than the rest,” he said.  


She turned on him, “I had no other choice.”  


“Truly?” he asked, looking her in the eye. His eyes were green, like hers. Only a different shade.  


She turned back and kept her line of sight between her horse’s ears, “I would not have done it otherwise.”  


Finally, after she refused to answer more questions, the Kingslayer relented and left, riding off to join his own men.  


_What could he know of honor_? Meera wondered angrily.  


That night Meera dreamed about it again. Jojen had already been weak, so thin and pale and he would not stop trembling from cold no matter how close he was to the fire. He hadn’t made it very far past the hill before he collapsed. She’d rolled him over, screaming at him to get up, _please get up. She saw tears well up in his eyes and freeze to his face as they began to roll down it. “Go,” he’d told her but she would not. Summer had howled and tugged at her sleeve while Jojen pleaded weakly. She’d wept while she drew out her long knife, not caring that her face was covered with frozen tears that numbed her skin until she couldn’t feel it at all anymore.  
_

Then the snow melted away and walls of stone surrounded her, there was a fire crackling merrily in a hearth to one side and it was Bran before her now, rays of light from the window fell on his face, “No,” he said, his face so horribly flat and emotionless, “I don’t need you anymore.” She stood in shock, “Go now,” he said with a slight wave of his hand. " _Go_ " Jojen had said, shaking, dying. “Go,” Bran seemed to be shouting now. His eyes were so empty, lifeless. He was dead but he was alive. Her tears burned her face. When she woke she was weeping.  
  


The road to Winterfell had seemed to go on forever but now she could make out the towers in the distance as they stopped atop a hill, looking out towards their destination. There was so much smoke ahead, and when she looked closely Meera saw what must be people moving along the roads, the walls, the embankments though they were no larger than mites from this distance. _He never said I could not come back_ she thought determinedly.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst will be coming to a screen near you next weekend  
> Tell me what you think in the comments below! (seriously, I have no other way of knowing if anyone even read the chapter)


	9. Bran III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran is forced to confront people from his past

# Bran

# 

  


_Why do they all have to arrive together?_ Bran thought. They’d received word that the remainder of the Targaryen forces were approaching from the south nearly two hours earlier; now Bran was seated beside his window watching strange men pour into the yard. It would have been fine had it just been Daenerys’s men arriving. But they’d been told that it seemed to be all of the Southron forces and the crannogmen who had finally been roused from their swamps. Bran had known they were coming north, had known that they were all travelling together. But it hadn’t felt real until just then.  


Sansa had come up to his chamber to tell him he was needed in the yard, that by custom the Lord of Winterfell ought to come out to meet guests arriving at his castle. “I am aware” Bran told her, “but I can’t.” He sighed and looked up at her, giving her a grim smile, “Could you do it please? You’re better at such courtesies than I am.”  


“Alright,” She said, “but you will join us for supper tonight.” She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head before leaving, casting a worried glance back at him before she shut the door.  


Bran looked back out the window, peering down into the yard as best he could. The snow was falling heavily and the walls blocked much of his view. In fact while he had a good view of the inner courtyard, Bran could not see anything that happened near the front gates nor was he curious enough to take the mind of a nearby bird. He would rather not see. Instead he watched people rushing around the courtyard and he could see people pouring in from the direction of the gates. Footsore Northmen, Dothraki warriors leading their weary horses to the stables, even a few men dressed in layers of furs with brightly colored silks visible in places. Dornishmen, he realized. He could see all sorts of people moving about the yard, many of them men who had marched from all across the Seven Kingdoms.  


Bran mused that _before_ he might have been excited by this prospect, even with the danger ahead. His younger self would have been happy and bright in the assurance that all would be well eventually, nothing had ever seemed to be bad or wrong about the world back then. Now, though, Bran could not seem to find anything worthwhile about the world of the living. It was cold and grey, all of it painful. His head ached as the tea he’d drunk began to wear off.  


He was grateful that his sisters had taken the burden of ruling Winterfell from him, grateful and guilty. While he wished he could perform those duties himself whenever he tried he quickly became distracted by his visions, by Summer, or headaches. He’d once mentioned to his sisters that the last time he’d been Lord of Winterfell had been when the Ironborn were able to conquer it. They’d both reprimanded him, telling him that it wasn’t his fault though that wasn’t what he’d been meaning to say. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d meant though. Only that bad things seemed to happen to him and the people around him.  


Since releasing himself from most of his duties Bran spent most of his time in his bedchamber or in the godswood where people didn’t bother him. There had been a time when Bran had determinedly ventured out of his bedchamber every day, determined to live his life as normally as possible. But that was before the Ironborn came, before he’d been forced into the wilds, before he’d gotten so used to solitude and silence that hearing steps outside his door often frightened him.  
  


When evening fell Sansa came back to his chamber with a few men to help Bran to the feast. The great hall was filled with lords, ladies, knights, and other warriors of note, there wasn’t nearly enough room to house or feed entire armies here. When he was pushed into his spot on the table Bran found himself seated between Arya and Tyrion Lannister. Ser Jaime Lannister was seated on Tyrion’s other side. Bran’s stomach seemed to curl, threatening sickness, and he felt dizzy. He breathed slowly and tried to focus on counting the men in the hall, a fruitless task thanks to the low light and constant movement.  


When he finally felt less sick and was able to look at his companions again Bran noticed a carved golden hand peeping out from Ser Jaime’s sleeve, resting on the table before him. Although a part of Bran exulted at the knowledge that the man responsible for him being crippled was now a cripple himself, Bran also knew that it changed nothing for him. Jaime Lannister losing his right hand had not saved his father, his mother, or Robb. It hadn’t protected him from the Ironborn, hadn’t stopped the Boltons and Freys from treachery. Jaime Lannister losing a hand wouldn’t make it any easier for Bran to dress himself or take a piss. Ser Jaime’s injury did nothing for Bran.  


Eventually the servants came to fill their trenches with stew and their plates with food. Bran was presented with a choice cut of meat, sent to him by Jon who, Bran saw when he looked over, was watching Bran with concern in his eyes. Lord Tyrion was given a leg of lamb which he seemed to enjoy. Ser Jaime was served a slab of meat, Bran couldn’t tell what kind, that was noticeably large and uncut. Lord Tyrion leaned over to help his brother cut his meat and was brushed off rudely. His brother instead stabbed the meat with his knife and lifted it to his mouth whole, staring down the man who’d served it to him who quickly moved on to serve the man next to Ser Jaime, a lord from the Vale whose name Bran could not recall. Harry, it might have been, Harry something.  


During the feast, thanks to the seating, Bran was subjected to a number of Tyrion’s jokes, made privately to Bran and Ser Jaime. “Three grotesques,” Tyrion had named them at some point when Ser Jaime mentioned the way people were staring.  


“It’s true though, you must admit.” Tyrion had said, being somewhat drunk already.  


“Or,” Ser Jaime interjected, “perhaps they stare because _we_ are Lannisters. And I don’t think the boy enjoys being lumped in with us,” he finished, gesturing at Bran.  


Bran looked away and leaned towards Arya, trying to hear what their great-uncle the Blackfish was telling her about a strategy he’d used in the War of the Ninepenny Kings but it was so loud that Bran was only able to catch every fifth word.  


Eventually Bran gave up and scanned the crowd below. He felt like he was being watched by someone. He found her sitting on a bench near the center of the hall. She looked prettier than she ever had before he thought. Her long hair was pulled back in a braid, he thought it was a little more elaborate than the way she’d worn it all the years he’d known her. She’d gotten new clothes too. They were made up of green wool and brown leather and grey furs, a large brooch in the shape of a lizard-lion was her only adornment. She was staring at him, her gaze sharp but her face was calm. Her look reminded him of the expression she often had when fishing, it made him squirm.  


Bran noticed a man sitting to her left, he looked to be close to forty, his hair streaked with grey. The man made eye contact with Bran and nodded at him. Bran assumed that must be Lord Howland, though he could have guessed that from the man’s face alone. He looked remarkably like Jojen had.  


Bran tried to wait for a point where he wouldn’t be rude in leaving but it was so loud, and hot, and his head pounded and his chest felt tight and ached. He was tired of the noise and the crowd, and he was tired of Tyrion’s joking beside him. He knew the man did not intend any harm toward him, and he was still grateful for the ways Tyrion had helped him when he was a child but that did not mean that Bran was grateful for his company that evening. He was also uncomfortable from the way Meera was studying him and the stares he kept receiving from strangers among the guests. Finally he broke and told Arya that he wanted to leave, to please find someone to take him back to his rooms.  


Arya accompanied him to his bedchamber despite his protests. Bran didn’t mind being pushed in his chair but he was still uncomfortable with how he had to be carried up the stairs, often by two men, grunting and heaving the whole way. It was humiliating and that night it weighed on him even more than normal. He struggled to keep his face calm, and stared at the ceiling rather than at the men who were practically dragging him back to his room, and the third man who was carrying his chair. Bran cursed himself a little for not requesting a room on a lower level for that, getting that chair up and down was even worse than getting himself around. It was all very stupid.  


When they finally reached the bedchamber Arya hurried forward to pull back the covers on his bed and the men laid Bran down on it. Arya dismissed them and began to unlace Bran’s boots for him. “Are you well, Bran?” She asked, her face pinched in concern.  


Bran looked away towards the fire, “I’m fine,” he said faintly.  


She set his boots beside the trunk at the foot of his bed and came over to stand by him and grabbed his hand, “You don’t look fine.”  


He shrugged, “I’m tired.”  


“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”  


“Yes I’m sure,” He sighed “you can go back to the feast.”  


Arya kissed his forehead quickly and made to leave. Bran quickly sat up on his elbows, “Arya.”  


She turned, “Yes Bran?”  


“You wouldn’t happen to know how to make a sleeping draught, would you?”  


She studied him for a moment, “I’ll be back soon,” she said and left. He could hear her boots clunking on the stairs as she hurried down them.  


Bran put a hand over his heart and tried to keep his breathing even. His chest had felt tight all evening but it had gotten worse. He reassured himself that the pain always stopped eventually, he just had to keep breathing, focus on the way the fire flickered or run his hand through the furs that he’d pulled over himself and just feel that instead of the way his heart was pounding or the dizziness that was taking over.  


Arya did come back quickly, she must have run. He didn’t ask what kind of draught she’d made him, he didn’t care what it was as long as it worked. He drank it in one gulp, it was thick and sweet and his mouth felt a little numb after he swallowed it. Arya helped him lean back into the pillows, “Goodnight Bran,” she said while she brushed hair away from his face.  


“Goodnight,” he breathed as sleep took hold.  
  


The next morning Bran was brooding in the godswood. He didn’t mind the cold so much but his chest still ached and his head still hurt. He heard the crunch of snow behind him and tried not to pay it any mind. It was likely one of the wolves, or Arya, perhaps Rickon. Slowly, and quietly the person stalked up behind him and rounded his chair to lean against one of the great lower limbs of the weirwood, arms crossed around her chest, a deep scowl on her face. They were silent for some time, Bran hoping that maybe if he stayed still and quiet for long enough that maybe she’d leave and he wouldn’t have to face her. But he had no such luck. Meera was a skilled huntress, and a great deal of hunting was waiting patiently.  


Finally he looked up into her clear green eyes, “Hello, Meera.”  


“Hello Bran,” She said quietly.  


He gulped, “How – how are you?”  


She shrugged and looked down at her feet, “Bran” she stopped, looked at him for a few moments while he waited, wishing he could shrink into the trees, feeling a great deal like an insect or some unsightly creature that had been caught in the sun’s rays, “Why did you… um, are you, are you – did you? No, um.” She sighed, vexed.  


“Meera, are you alright?” Bran asked, worried.  


Something snapped in her, “Alright?” She stared at him, as if in shock. Bran didn’t understand what he’d done wrong now but the anger was visible in her face. “My brother died, Bran. Jojen died for you. I had to drag you through miles upon miles of snow until I collapsed. Hodor died. You haven’t said a word about him since!” she was shouting now, gesturing wildly, and moving closer to him. “I nearly starved. I nearly froze. I lost my brother. And when we _finally_ got here all you could do was dismiss me with a ‘thank you’.” She clenched her fists, “As if I was some… some servant who didn’t even matter to you.” She wiped angry tears from her eyes vehemently and stared him down. “Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”  


Bran didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what he’d done to make her so angry all of a sudden. But he supposed that was how it happened sometimes, if you’ve been angry about something for a long time and suddenly have a chance to tell the person off. He still wanted to say something to Ser Jaime, but what? The less rational part of him had taken control though. “What did you want me to say?” he asked, challenging her.  


She worked her jaw up and down noiselessly before sputtering “I – I deserved more than that Bran.”  


“Mayhaps,” he said, feigning calm, “but when you come in and tell me that I don’t need you anymore – which I don’t – there were only two things I could say and only one of them allowed you to leave.”  


She glared down at him, nostrils flaring “That’s stupid Bran, you could have said something better.”  


“Like what?” he challenged.  


“No, you don’t get to do this Bran. You don’t get to pretend this is my fault.”  


“What would you have had me say?”  


She turned away from him and walked a few yards off, breathing hard, and put her face in her hands. It took a few minutes for her to return. Finally she came back to stand before him again, closer this time “I don’t know” She admitted and took a shaky breath, “But I deserved better than your dismissal and I think you know it.”  


Bran stared down at his dead legs and thought carefully on his answer, much more so than he’d done the last time he saw her. “Meera,” he started, “I think you understand that there wasn’t anything I could have said that wouldn’t have hurt.” Her gaze narrowed, “You would have been miserable if you stayed but – I thought – if you left you’d be better off.” She stared, Bran didn’t understand her expression and he looked away again. “You’re right. You’re not a servant so there was no reason to make you stay with me and continue acting like one.”  


“Did you want me to stay?” She whispered.  


He shook his head, “It doesn’t matter what I want.” _Wants lead to hurt. Dreams exist to be crushed. It’s best not to have any._ He didn’t dare say that though.  


“But did you want me to?”  


“No.”  


Meera stepped back, “No?”  


_You deserved better, you deserved to be happy._ “I didn’t ask you to come with me in the first place, and you needed to see your family.”  


She shook her head, “That’s got nothing to do with you, Bran. Did you _want_ me to stay?”  


“For what. What could you have done if you stayed?”  


She seemed put off by that, “I thought we were friends. You’ve been my family for years now, Bran. People want to be with people they care about.”  


_But why should I if those people always leave? Or die._  


Her expression changed again, “Unless… unless you don’t care.”  


Bran’s chest ached again, his heart a lump of lead that was dragging him down into the snow beneath. “Meera, I –”  


She suddenly stepped back, holding up her hand, “I don’t want to hear.” Bran thought he saw tears shining in her eyes again “Don’t,” she said again before she turned on her heel and left, walking quickly along the trail that had been carved for his chair.  


“Meera,” he called weakly after her.  


She did not seem to hear him.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah it's a bit depressing, but if it makes you feel better the original draft was much darker.  
> Check in next weekend for more angst, this time from Meera's perspective.  
> Tell me what you think in the comments below! (again, that's the only way I know if anyone has even read the chapter, and comments don't need to be eloquent)


	10. Meera IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation continues

# Meera

  


”Meera!” she heard him call after her but she would not stop, it hurt too much.  


_Does he care?_ Meera had tortured herself with that question for months now but talking to him made her feel more confused. He refused to say that he cared and she supposed that must mean he did not but there was something in his eyes that made her uncertain.  


That night Bran was not at supper, Meera was glad of that. She looked over the people at the high table, they were fewer that night. Lady Sansa sat in the King’s seat, a man with a horribly scarred face sat on Lady Sansa’s right hand and Brienne of Tarth whom Meera had met briefly the last time she was at Winterfell sat on Lady Sansa’s other side. Meera thought the guests were odd considering Lady Brienne was not a high lady and Meera did not know the man on Lady Sansa’s other hand but she did not think him a high lord either. But it was not very important and with most of the other lords and ladies gone, likely in council with the king. It did not matter who Lady Sansa invited to sup with her.  


Meera’s father was also missing. He’d been approached by the king almost as soon as they arrived, they’d gone off together to talk over some important matter and when next she saw them the king had an odd look about him. Like relief, anger and confusion all rolled up together.  


Meera did not know many people at Winterfell, despite how crowded it was there the castle was a lonely place for her. She’d never felt so lonely before even when it was just her and Bran in the silence beyond the Wall. “Can I sit here?” a woman’s voice came from behind her.  


Meera turned, startled to see Bran’s sister Arya standing behind her, a plate full of food in her hands. She slid onto the bench before Meera could answer. “Hello,” she said brightly.  


“Hello,” Meera said suspiciously.  


“You’re Lady Reed, are you not?”  


“I am,” Meera tried to keep her expression neutral. _What could she possibly want?_  


“I have it from a good source that I have you to thank for my little brother’s return.”  


Meera didn’t know what to say to that “Um…” she gulped at the ale in front of her, “I had help,” she mumbled.  


“You kept my brother safe, helped him when no one else did. He speaks highly of you.”  


“He talked about me?” That could not be right, Bran didn’t care about her. He was not himself anymore.  


Arya smirked, “He only talks when I make him. But he spoke well of you when forced.”  


Meera stared down into the ale “Only when forced,” she mused.  


Arya put a hand on Meera’s shoulder, “It’s not like that. Bran is… reticent now. I think he just wants to forget everything bad that happened to him. But, that’s almost his entire life. It’s not so much _you_ he does not wish to speak of but rather other things that happened, all things that happened when you were around.” She was quiet for a minute, “I know he hurt you. But he cares more than he lets on.” Meera shook her head, “Much more,” Arya added.  


“Did Bran ask you to talk to me?” Meera asked miserably.  


“Do you think Bran would ask someone to speak to you on his behalf?”  


Meera studied the ale some more, then sighed “I suppose he wouldn’t.”  


“Because he didn’t. I wanted to meet you.”  


A large man with black hair and large muscles appeared and sat on Arya’s other side. “I’ve been looking for you.” He said to Arya.  


Arya grinned up at him, “Hullo, Gendry. I’ve missed you today.”  


He smiled down at her, “And how has m’lady been occupying herself now that her favorite brother is home?”  


“Do not call me ‘m’lady’!” Arya snapped at him. “I’ve been meeting a lot of people. Mostly the queen’s men but,” Arya put a hand back on Meera’s shoulder, “This is my new friend, Lady Meera Reed.”  


Meera nearly choked on her ale and looked up at the big man, Gendry. She raised a few fingers in greeting since she was still trying to cough up the ale.  


He smiled down at her and nodded his head, “M’lady.”  


“Meera’s fine,” Meera coughed at him.  


“Meera took care of my brother Bran while he was North, she brought him home safe for us.” Meera grimaced but Gendry looked impressed. “Bran said she killed an Other,” Arya continued. Gendry looked more impressed, he raised his mug of beer in salute to her. Meera hadn’t even been sure that Bran knew that.  


“Not many folk have killed Others from what I hear,” Gendry said.  


“Sam Tarly killed one” Meera stuttered.  


“And Jon Snow has killed some as well,” Gendry said. “That doesn’t diminish your victory.”  


“He’s right,” Her father’s voice came from behind as he sat on her other side. “You should be proud of yourself Meera, killing Others is a feat only two other men can claim from what I know.”  


Arya smiled at Lord Howland, “My Lord,” she said, “We did not get a chance to speak earlier. I’m –”  


“Arya Stark,” he nodded “you look like Lyanna.”  


“My father used to say that,” Arya said quietly, a sad look passing over her face.  


“He was right, you’re the very image. Though Lyanna wore her hair longer.”  


“Did you know my aunt well, my lord?”  


“Not very, but I considered her to be a friend.” He lowered his voice “I was with her when she died.”  


Arya was quiet for a moment, “You were a friend of my father’s too.”  


Lord Howland nodded, “Aye, Ned was my greatest friend. I was grieved to hear of his death.”  


They passed the rest of the meal in subdued chatter, Lord Howland told Arya about her father, their time at war together. He told her about the knight of the laughing tree as well. Remarking again how much Arya resembled her aunt.  


That night Meera was led to a small bedchamber in the same tower she’d stayed in when first she’d come to Winterfell, before the Ironborn. She thought it odd that she and her father were given rooms in the same tower as the Starks themselves, but there was no reason to protest. After tossing and turning for an hour she left the chamber to get some air. Rickon was coming down the stairs. “Meera,” he said brightly and ran down to embrace her.  


She squeezed him back, “Hello, Rickon. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”  


“I was hungry,” he said with a shrug.  


“Well then I won’t keep you.” She sent him off with a pat on his head and wandered away.  


She wasn’t sure where she was going but her feet took her to the godswood. It was empty now that it was dark out, the tracks of Bran’s wheeled chair had carved deep ruts but most of the snow was untouched. She followed some lighter tracks in the direction of the hot pools but stopped short of them. She heard splashing there and laughter. She had little interest in discovering who the voices belonged to.  


Turning back the way she came Meera found a boulder near the cold pool beneath the heart tree and sat on it. The ice was thin over the water, in spots that were clearer of snow the color was almost the same as Bran’s eyes. And near as cold. Meera sat still, looking into the pool for some time, thinking.  


She didn’t know why she was there. She did not feel like prayer, she didn’t wish to sneak off the kitchens and try to nick some food with Rickon. More than that though, she wasn’t sure why she’d come back to Winterfell. Her father had pressed her to come under the belief that seeing Bran again might help her but it had only hurt more. _I’d rather be without an answer than to hear him admit that he does not care_ she decided. And she cursed the part of herself that still hoped his answer would be different. _He did not answer because he does not wish to upset me more._ Meera let out a long sigh, her breath puffing white in front of her, _But if he didn’t care why would he hesitate?_ She sat by the pool for some time, worrying this way and that, worse than she ever had before, her stomach tight with nerves.  


She was startled from her mental argument when she heard the sounds of people moving through the brush, whoever they were they did not pass by the heart tree. Meera stood and walked back to her bedchamber, walking quickly to get the feeling back in her legs after sitting in the cold for so long.  
  


Meera spent the morning of her third day in the castle in the training yard. She found a sparring partner in Brienne of Tarth’s squire, Podrick Payne. They sparred for much of the morning, him with a tourney sword and her with her dragonglass-tipped spear. Eventually the squire was called away to attend to other duties and Meera had to find a new partner, this time it was Osha who was much better with the spear than she was. Meera left the training yard sore and bruised, but she felt better for having trained.  


While at supper that evening a servant approached Meera, “Lady Reed,” he said “Lord Stark requests an audience with you.” Meera groaned slightly but she stood and followed him to Bran’s bedchamber.  


Bran was seated near the window. There was a steaming cup in his hand and Summer rose from his spot near Bran’s feet to greet Meera. She was not glad to see Bran’s face, but she was glad to see Summer, she scratched the direwolf’s ears and kissed the top of his head.  


Bran gave Meera a solemn look as she came to stand in front of him, arms crossed across her chest. “Meera,” he said quietly, “would you please sit?” he asked, indicating a chair by the fire.  


Meera stood straighter, “I can stand, thank you.”  


“Please, Meera.” He sounded tired, he even looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes and his hair was ruffled as if he’d been pulling at it. “Let me explain myself.”  


Meera regarded him with a deep frown, “Fine.” She grabbed the cup from Bran’s hand so he wouldn’t spill it and stalked over to the chair by the fire. She set the cup on a table by the bed and sat. Bran followed, pushing on the wheels of his chair so he could come close. Their knees were nearly touching and he’d blocked her exit. He was quiet, looking at her face intently. “Well,” Meera said, impatient.  


Bran looked down at his hands, “Meera, I understand that you were upset when you left before. That I was… less courteous than I should have been.”  


“Courteous?” Meera interrupted.  


His eyes flicked back to her face, “Caring then.” He looked back at his hands, “Meera, I want to explain exactly what happened to me, but I need you to let me speak.”  


“Alright, I won’t interrupt you.”  


Bran started at the beginning, with his fall. Meera already knew many of the facts, they’d spent years together after all. Years in which he’d been more talkative than he had been since they’d left the Crow’s cave. He talked and talked. About skinchanging, greensight, and all the things Lord Brynden had taught him to do. Despite already knowing much of Bran’s tale, Meera couldn’t understand it all. Bran had a tendency to talk in circles, trying to move from one point to another but ending up coming back round to something he’d already talked about. And Meera did not have greensight, or green dreams even. _Maybe you can be greenseers too?_ Bran had said once, that was not possible. Meera almost stopped him talking as only a fraction of what he said made sense but she’d promised not to interrupt.  


It wasn’t until he tried to explain just what he’d done that had forced them to flee the Crow’s cave that she really began to pay attention, though understanding was still difficult. Bran seemed to shrink in his chair when he tried to tell her about what he’d done to Hodor. His voice was thick and sad as he tried to explain that, the difficulties with time and magic. How he’d ruined a man’s life with his carelessness. And then they’d made the man die for them, she knew she’d played a role in that although Bran did not say it. Meera felt as ashamed as Bran looked. Hodor – or Walder, she recalled his real name was Walder – had deserved better from both of them. But it all seemed to weigh more heavily on Bran’s shoulders.  


His explanation did not stop there. He told her about the other things he’d seen afterward, how each dream and vision had weighed on him more. He did not tell her about how it had felt but she could see it on his face. Speaking became harder for him as he continued, and Meera felt sympathy niggling within her. She reached out and grabbed his hand, lending him some of her warmth so he could finish.  


Meera was not as horrified by Bran’s tale as he seemed to think she would have been. It was horrifying that he’d done so many things wrong, what he’d done to Hodor. But Meera did not hate him. She could not.  


She realized he’d stopped talking and was looking at her, “Did any of that make sense?” He asked.  


She shrugged, “Not much.” He grimaced and picked at the fur that was draped over his legs. “Well it did help me make some sense of you, but it doesn’t repair any of the damage you’ve done. You’ve changed Bran.”  


He nodded dully, “That is true, but I want someone to understand. I couldn’t explain it to Arya or Jon or Sam.” He sighed and looked her in the eye, “Meera, can you forgive me?”  


“For what?” she asked pointedly.  


He breathed deeply, his eyes glittered with anxiety “I’ve treated you dreadfully. I’ve kept secrets from you, I was cold when you needed warmth, and I dismissed you without explanation or kindness. Can you forgive me for that?”  


Meera did not want to say yes. Of course she forgave him, he was so easy to forgive though she could not quite understand why. _It should not be so easy._ “I will think on it,” She told him.  


His shoulders drooped more and he wriggled his hand out of hers. “I suppose that’s all I can hope for.”  


Meera nodded her agreement, _It can’t be that easy._ She’d suffered too much for him just talk his way back into her good graces.  


“And I _do_ care about you, Meera. You’ve been my dearest friend for years. I hope you know that.” She did. “So,” Bran had drawn himself back up and was looking at her instead of his feet, “how are you?”  


Meera breathed deeply, “I’m well enough.”  


“That’s good.” He continued to study her, it made her want to squirm. “How did you get those scars?” He asked, indicating the small, thin scars on her cheek.  


“Um, I was attacked. By some wights.”  


His brow furrowed, “When?”  


“A couple months ago, near Greywater. They came out of the water and tried to drown me.”  


“I’m sorry.”  


“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”  


“Well,” he said pointedly.  


She shook her head, “Shut up, Bran. I’m tired of thinking about your wrongdoings.”  


He nodded and leaned back a bit in his chair, he turned his head back to the fire. Meera watched Bran’s face, wondering what he was thinking about. Watching the way the light reflected on his eyes. Blue, but not like stars; they were more like a clear pool of water or a summer sky.  


“Meera,” Bran said softly, “I have something to ask of you.”  


Meera drew herself up, “Yes Bran?”  


“I don’t wish to treat you like a servant, but everyone must do their part in the war. I have my own battles to fight and during that time my body will be vulnerable. I need someone to guard me and I’d feel safer with you.”  


Meera did not have to think about her answer, “I’ll do it.”  


He looked relieved, “Good, that’s good.”  


“Will the dead be here soon?”  


He looked at her sadly, “Yes, very soon. Too soon.”  


She did not ask him any more questions. Bran and Meera sat in companionable silence for some time before Meera’s eyes were beginning to droop shut of their own accord and she nodded off.  


She woke to Bran shaking her shoulder lightly, “Meera,” he said softly. She opened her eyes and saw him leaning toward her. His blue eyes were soft and crinkled, and his mouth looked soft. Meera wanted to touch it, or kiss it, whichever was easier. "Meera," he said again. “You fell asleep. I didn’t think you wanted to sleep here.”  


Meera staggered to her feet, her face growing warm “Goodnight Bran,” she said and left.  


She’d shared a sleeping skin with Bran when they were lost out in the cold. It was easier to keep warm that way. She remembered those nights – they were all freezing and miserable. Bran had been growing ever more cold and distant and she had spent every night trying to hold back tears, trying not think about what had happened. Even with their misery it had been comforting to sleep near Bran then. But not at Winterfell where sharing furs meant sharing a bed which was a whole different matter from sharing a bedroll.  


When Meera reached her little bedchamber she was barely able to struggle out of her coat and boots, setting her weapons on a table before she collapsed into the bed and fell asleep.  


Outside the world grew colder and colder while they all slept, the stars began to disappear as freezing mists rose and the guards were forced to add ever more fuel to the fires. The excitement of the gatherings was done. And not far off there appeared blue lights, blue lights like small, cold stars moving in the mists. They moved slowly but constantly. Drawing ever closer to the living.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah it turns out I'm not great at writing angst.  
> I may publish another bonus chapter during the week, but the next real chapter will be up next weekend. There's going to be a time jump from this chapter so be prepared for that. Also, some characters will be dead or gone. You'll find out who next chapter.  
> Please let me know what you think! (Comments don't need to be eloquent)


	11. Interlude - A Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany get hitched

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing is hard and I have been pretty busy this week so instead of the Bran chapter I was supposed to be posting you get this.

**Daenerys ******

She wasn’t sure she liked all the layers. Lady Sansa had told Dany that it was customary for a Northern bride to wear many layers, else she’d be stripped naked too quickly during the bedding. Dany hadn’t told her that there wasn’t going to be a bedding. She suspected the real reason she’d been wrapped up so tightly was because of the cold and if it wasn’t so difficult to move beneath the layers of wool, velvet, leather, and fur Dany would have asked for another layer. She ran her hands down the front of her thick coat of trimmed white fur and fiddled with the silver clasps, they felt cold even under her gloves and she was still inside her chambers.  


Dany prayed silently that the wedding would go well. When Jon had told Dany that he was her brother Rhaegar’s son all she could do was laugh. Laugh because of all the men in the world the only one she’d been able to truly fall in love with just had to be her family. _Is this some joke of the gods’?_ she’d wondered. Or was it their Valyrian blood that drove them to love each other, to be together? For much of her life she’d expected to wed her brother Viserys only to be sold off to her Khal. She’d assured Jon and herself that their marriage was different. It was not unheard of for Westerosi women to wed their uncles, was an aunt marrying a nephew so different? She did not know. Eventually they’d decided that even though they knew the truth now neither of them felt differently so the wedding was to go ahead without delay.  


Ser Barristan helped Dany don a maiden’s cloak though she was no maiden and offered her his arm. Dany breathed deeply as they began to walk towards the godswood, the heart tree, to Jon.  


**Sansa ******

********

Daenerys was beautiful as she walked into their line of view, hanging on Ser Barristan’s arm. She wore so many layers she could barely move her arms and she looked nearly fat, though Sansa could see that the queen had a very slim face and neck. Her maiden’s cloak was black as night with the three-headed dragon of her house embroidered on the back in shimmering thread. “Who comes?” Ser Davos’s voice rang out amongst the gathered crowd.  


“Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen comes to be wed,” Ser Barristan answered, “a woman grown and noble born.” Ser Barristan wasn’t very familiar with Northern weddings but his words were close enough. “Who comes to claim her?” the old man asked.  


“Me.” Jon stepped forward, he looked like a king wrapped in grey wool and velvet; his heavy gray cloak was trimmed with white ermine fur. He wore no crown but his hair had been washed and combed back. He looked like her father would have when he was young Sansa supposed, it made her sad. “Who gives her?”  


“Ser Barristan, commander of her Queensguard.” Ser Barristan looked down at his queen, “Queen Daenerys, will you take this man?”  


“I take this man.” Danerys’s voice was strong, her eyes were on Jon, and only Jon.  


Jon stepped forward and took Daenerys’s hands in his, leading her to the tree. They knelt before its face for a few moments, eyes closed in silent prayer. They rose together and Jon reached down, undoing the clasp of Daenerys’s cloak. He removed it and handed it to Ser Barristan. He then removed his own cloak which was gray with a snarling white direwolf emblazoned on the back, and swept it over her. They shared a quick, chaste kiss before Jon swept Daenerys off her feet and carried her back to the castle, to the feast.  


**Gendry ******

**  
**  
****  


The great hall of Winterfell was full to bursting that night and so loud Gendry could not hear himself think. He was not allowed to sit at the high table near Arya, nor was she allowed to sit on the bench with him. Not that night. Gendry was at least able to watch her, he was rather close.  


After the wedding was done Gendry had been wandering with the crowd, wondering at how short it had been when someone had grabbed his arm. He’d looked down and seen Meera Reed grinning up at him, “Hello Ser Gendry,” she’d said.  


“M’lady,” he’d mumbled, nodding down at her. She did not release his arm so he stopped, “Do you want something, m’lady?”  


“I told you before ‘Meera’ is fine.” Gendry nodded, “I was also going to invite you to sit with me.”  


Gendry furrowed his brow, “Why?”  


Meera tugged his arm so they could resume walking, “You’re friends with Arya, I’ve been told you’re a knight, and your work as a smith is important.” It still sounded wrong to Gendry. He looked down at Lady Meera quizzically and she laughed lightly, “I also think you might make a good friend,” she looked suddenly very sad, “This castle is filled with people but there’s no one for me to talk to.”  


Gendry looked down at the top of her head. Meera reminded him of Arya, only she was more cheerful. They were both friendly and fierce, they wore breeches and could use weapons, and Meera was the same size Arya had been when he’d first known her. They didn’t look much alike though. He let her take him into the great hall and he sat beside her on the bench.  


Meera talked to him all evening. He tried his best to look interested but at one point when Meera was explaining how crannogs were constructed at his request he managed to catch Arya’s eye. She smiled at him and he fumbled with his drink, causing it to slosh down at him and onto his shirt. He flushed and looked down at his plate.  


That morning Gendry had run into Arya on his way back from his bath. He’d taken to bathing in the hot springs after Arya showed them to him, he didn’t mind heat so much especially after working in the forge for so many years. He still couldn’t quite understand why Arya had darted off so suddenly that afternoon in the godswood. She’d had the strangest look on her face then, and she’d gotten the same strange look when they nearly collided with each other in the godswood that morning. They’d talked for a few minutes about nothing before Arya looked at him very seriously, “We could all be dead this time tomorrow,” her voice sounded sad and Gendry had nodded his agreement.  


She’d looked pretty just then, already dressed in her finery for the wedding. Arya was always pretty but there seemed to be something about the light filtering through the trees, the quiet of the woods, that made Gendry’s heart beat faster just from looking at her. While he looked down at her her gaze shifted from sadness to intent. “Arya,” he’d said and she’d put a hand on either side of his face and pulled him down until his lips met hers. When they’d pulled apart Arya had just stared at him and he at her for several breathless moments before they heard the sound of someone coming through the woods and Lady Sansa had appeared from the footpath, come to call Arya back to the wedding preparations.  


Gendry hadn’t had an opportunity to speak with Arya since, to apologize or maybe to do it again. He was undecided. Her lips had been so soft.  


The calls for bedding began before Gendry could figure out how to catch Arya alone again. Men were beating their cups or fists on the tables and shouting “Bed them! Bed them!”  


King Jon stood and raised a hand, waiting for the crowd to quiet. When they did he looked down at his queen, Gendry could not see what expression was on her face. The king turned back to the crowd, “There will be no bedding” He said firmly and without waiting for the groans and jeers to subside he grabbed his bride’s hand and they fled out a door in the back of the great hall.  


Lady Meera laughed into her cup and Gendry smirked. He glanced back at the high table. Lord Brandon was looking at him now with an especially sour expression while Arya was swiping what must have been a syrup off her plate with her fingers. Arya put one finger in her mouth at a time, licking the sweet red stuff off them one by one and she looked back down at Gendry. Gendry smiled at her and she grinned back. Her brother looked at his sister, then back at Gendry, then back at his sister his face changing to something Gendry could not read from the distance. Lord Brandon leaned over and said something to his sister, she rose and grabbed his wheeled chair, pushing him towards the same door the bride and groom had left through.  


Gendry excused himself from the feast and from Lady Meera’s company. He spent much of the night thinking back on the kiss he’d shared with Arya. He wondered if she’d liked it, and why she’d done it. He berated himself for wondering. They might all be dead soon and that knowledge lead many people to seek out love. _It didn’t mean anything_ Gendry told himself but when he began to drift in sleep it was Arya who inhabited his dreams in the gray wool she’d worn that day or the acorn dress she’d been stuffed into when Lady Smallwood had hosted them. She was especially beautiful in the dappled light of the woods. The grass was soft beneath their feet and she smiled at him, reached up and brought his face to meet hers. Gendry thought he heard Tom singing about featherbeds and a maiden of the tree.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments (I'd love to hear your thoughts even if it's a keysmash)
> 
> Bran's next chapter will be published next weekend unless I'm able to write it earlier.


	12. Bran IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war is over but there are still matters to attend to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: there was a time-jump from the last couple of chapters during which time the war with the Others has ended. Lots of people have died though just because a character isn't mentioned in this or the next chapter doesn't necessarily mean that they're dead.

Even with the roaring fire in the hearth the room was still cold. Bran was holding Arya’s hand while she slept praying silently that she would wake. She did not wake often.  


The door creaked when Sansa opened it, slipping quietly into the room where Arya and Rickon were recovering. They still weren’t sure how Rickon had managed to find his way into the battle – he was only twelve and had been forbidden from joining the fight – but he had found his way anyway. Rickon was a sweet boy but he was also fierce in defending his family.  


Sansa crossed the room to push Rickon’s hair gently away from his face. She looked so much like their mother just then Bran had to look back down at Arya, blinking away tears. “What was mother like after I fell?” he asked quietly.  


Sansa looked at him, “Broken.”  


Bran kept his eyes down, studying Arya’s face. “She left though,” his voice was small, “I was dreaming and Rickon was just a baby and she still left.”  


He heard Sansa’s heels click across the floor and felt her slender fingers flutter through his hair before she wrapped her arms around him and she kissed his cheek, “She wouldn’t have been pulled away from you for anything that wasn’t of the utmost importance. She loved you Bran, more than any of us I think – though she would never have admitted it.” Bran shook his head but Sansa squeezed harder. “And I love you too, all of you. I think we’re strongest when we’re together and at home. We’re strongest behind the walls of Winterfell and we’re safest when we’re together. I don’t know what I’d have done if any of you had died.”  


“I don’t know what I’d have done either.”  


They looked back down at Arya, her wounds had been wrapped tightly in new linens an hour before when the Maester visited and the old ones hadn’t been stained with blood or pus for the first time in a week. Her cuts were healing, her fever was abating, and her broken bones were on the mend. “She’ll be alright. They’ll be just fine,” Sansa said assuredly. Bran nodded his agreement. Arya was not the worst of his worries.  


He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened inside that room below the crypts but while Meera and the other reserves had succeeded in defending those in the crypt she’d been badly wounded. She’d been sleeping for most of the week either of her own accord or because of the medicines the Maester was giving her. Bran hadn’t asked and he’d only dared to visit once.  


Her father had been with her, his arm wrapped tightly in a sling and a bandage around his head – he’d lost an eye – and he was very quiet. Bran had wanted to touch Meera, to talk to her and tell her that they’d won, that she would be alright but he hadn’t dared with her father in the room. Instead he’d had Sansa push him to the other side of Meera’s bed so he could be with her and she’d left him there with the Reeds for nearly three hours before she returned. When she had been ready to push Bran away he’d finally reached out and set his hand on top of hers and whispered “Please wake up, Meera.”  


Outside the survivors who were still able to work were at work gathering all the dead they could and burning them in piles. It was horrible but with so many dead there was nothing else they could do. Because so many had died even among the highborn Bran was only allowed a few hours to himself each day, and he spent most of it in Arya and Rickon’s room. The rest of his time was spent helping Jon, Daenerys, and their council to begin rebuilding their kingdom.  


“I’m abdicating my claim to the North,” Jon said abruptly during their council that day.  


“What?” Sansa spluttered.  


Bran noticed that nobody else on the council seemed surprised. “What will become of the North then?” Bran asked.  


Jon looked steadily at Bran, “The kingdom is yours.”  


Icy fear gripped Bran’s heart. _This is Robb’s burden, not mine_ but Robb was dead, had been for a long time. Bran looked at Sansa, she grabbed his hand and nodded at him. “I suppose it is my duty now,” he said at last. Around the room men and women bobbed their heads or murmured in agreement.  


“What are _you_ going to do though?” Sansa asked Jon.  


Lord Tyrion answered for them “There is a great deal of work to be done in the South. Destruction left by my sister and our wars. There are eight other kingdoms to deal with and feed. We’d best get started on that as soon as we can.”  


The great battle between men and the Others had been fought at Winterfell but many of the Others had made it South of the Neck to raise the dead there and bring the winter all the way to the coasts of Dorne as Bran had seen in his visions. It would take long years to rebuild the North from the destruction it had suffered and it would take many long years to rebuild the South as well, though from somewhat different destruction.  


While Bran sat in thought plans were made for a coronation and for Jon’s departure and safe travels to the South. Bran was only half listening. He wasn’t supposed to be the king. He had not been born for that duty. He wondered if his father had felt the same way about being Lord of Winterfell after his brother Brandon had died.  


In the end it was decided that Jon would not announce his abdication for a few more weeks since his party would not be able to travel until the winter loosened its grip a little more on the North.  


Eventually the time for their departure came and Bran found himself seated in the high seat of the Starks – with some assistance – and Jon put a crown on Bran’s head. They had commissioned a new crown for Bran that was made of braided silver and gold.  


Bran was not sure he liked the new crown but Sansa and Daenerys agreed that it was more symbolic of the summer and that summer was what the people needed. Bran had argued that he ought to wear the iron and bronze crown Robb had worn once that Arya had brought back from the South. That one was designed after the one the Starks of old had worn for generations but as Arya pointed out it was a new age, they needed a new crown for it. “Robb was wearing that crown when he died,” She’d added, her gray eyes briefly filling with the old pain. That was the point that had made Bran fully agree with his sisters’ idea for a new crown.  


That evening at the feast Bran felt someone bump his arm, he looked up into Daenerys’s face. She’d looked tired most of the time since the war though she looked less so that night. “You know,” she said “a king needs a queen.” And she nodded pointedly towards the crowd below. He followed her gaze to see Meera down there. She was too far away for Bran to see the details of her new gown other than that it was green. He was sure she looked lovely in it. She was talking and laughing with Gendry again. When he looked back at his good-sister she grinned at him and gave a conspiratorial wink. Bran flushed and looked back down at his plate.  


Three days later Jon, Daenerys, their advisors, lords, knights, retainers, sworn swords, warriors, and the rest of their host left Winterfell.  


Bran watched them go from his chair. He’d wished for a moment that he’d been able to ride on Dancer to see them off, it would have been more dignified that way. But poor Dancer was long dead and his chair was better than being carried everywhere.  


Bran knew he would miss Jon and Daenerys though he did not know her well and took comfort in the fact that Winterfell was not nearly as empty as it had been when Robb had ridden off to war. And Bran did not have time to wallow in loneliness or boredom. He had a kingdom to rebuild, people to care for, and he still had his sisters and Rickon with him. Their wolves were off hunting in the woods, he could hear them howling in the distance, bidding farewell to their brother.  


That afternoon as he was poring over reports and letters with his sisters, trying to decide what needed his attention first when there came a loud knocking on the door. “Your Grace,” came the voice of a guard through the door, “Lady Meera Reed is here to speak with you.”  


“Come in,” Bran shouted.  


Bran tried not to stare too openly at Meera. Her hair had been done in a series of elaborate braids – or much more elaborate braids than he’d ever seen Meera wear – and she wore a simply cut green dress that matched her eyes. There were small black lizard-lions embroidered around the hems. Bran couldn’t help but notice how the dress revealed slight curves on her torso that he’d never seen before. He had a sneaking suspicion that it was all Sansa’s work. “Your Grace,” she said stiffly and attempted a curtsy.  


“Meera,” Bran said. He felt relieved. Meera, on the other hand, looked angry. She did not scowl but she had a hard glint in her eye, the kind she got when she was angry and trying not to show it. “What’s wrong?”  


She crossed her arms and moved towards a window while Sansa and Arya left the room. Meera stayed where she was, gazing out the window. She didn’t look at him but he knew she was waiting for him. “Meera,” Bran tried again, “are you alright?”  


“Why didn’t you come?” She asked.  


He cocked his head, “Come where?”  


She turned to look at him, still standing across the room. “You didn’t visit me.” Bran felt a sinking feeling in his stomach and he stared down at the ledgers and letters in front of him. “I was lying in that bed for _weeks_ and you didn’t come to see me.” She was inching closer to him as she spoke, hurt cracking her voice.  


“I did –”  


“Once. You came one time when I was sleeping. But not once since then. Why not?”  


Bran forced himself to look up at her, “I’m sorry” he said “I wanted to but –”  


“But what?” Her eyes were sharp.  


“I was scared.”  


Her eyes softened and she sat in the chair Arya had just left. “What were you scared of?”  


“Losing you at first,” Bran looked back down at the mess of papers in front of him, “And your father didn’t seem welcoming when I came to visit. I didn’t want to risk angering him.”  


She laughed. Bran’s heart fluttered at that sound, it had been so long since he’d heard it. “My father would not have been angry with you for visiting.”  


Bran shrugged, blushing. She was so beautiful when she laughed. “What are you going to do now that it’s all over?” He asked.  


“I don’t know.” She shrugged, “I’ll probably go back home.”  


“Do you have to?” He blurted.  


She seemed amused by that. “Well, I suppose I could stay for a time. If it please you, Your Grace.”  


Bran groaned, “Please call me Bran.”  


”I suppose I can stay a while longer Bran.”  


“I insist you stay until spring. Your father is welcome to stay here as well.”  


Meera smiled again, “I don’t think my father will take your offer. Lords must serve their people and to serve them they need to be with them. I however am not burdened with my father’s responsibilities so I’ll stay here until spring.”  


“Good, I believe I have to spend some time with you. To make up for not visiting.” She laughed lightly, “And I would like to spend more time with my dearest friend anyway.”  


“Don’t you have other things to attend to, my King?”  


“ _Please_ don’t call me that Meera. And I’m sure I can find a little time to spend with you.”  


Meera leaned forward and grabbed Bran’s hand which was resting near her on the table, “I look forward to it Bran.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah that was a lot of things happening all at once.  
> The final chapter will be posted next Sunday after I get back from my vacation.  
> Please let me know what you think in the comments! They don't have to be eloquent and I love hearing what my readers think.


	13. Meera V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring has come at last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was another time skip between chapters but did you really want another two or three chapters of Bran and Meera just hanging out?

# Meera

There were flowers blooming in Winterfell. Snowdrops were creeping out of the melting snow drifts near the walls. Blue, bell-shaped flowers popped up amongst the trees in the wolfswood and crocuses blanketed the godswood. The air smelled sweet and fresh, though still sharp with cold. Spring had finally come and new hopes bloomed with the flowers.  


Aside from flowers Winterfell was also being filled with people, all gathering to celebrate the change of season with a week-long festival. The king had been occupied with his bannermen as they arrived at the castle one by one to celebrate, give news, ask for favors and permissions, and to not-so-subtly suggest a marriage pact between their house and the Starks. Most of them had even brought a daughter, granddaughter, or niece to offer their wife-less king.  


Meera found Bran seated on a rock in front of the black pond near the heart tree, his wheeled chair was set a few feet away, and he was staring intently into the water. He did not seem to hear her approach but when she sat next to him his reflection was smiling. “Are you hiding from them?” she asked.  


“No, I’m just enjoying a little quiet.”  


”Quiet? I could hear these birds from the bottom of the crypt.”  


Bran laughed, “You know what I mean. I’d rather listen to the birds than my lords bannermen, all trying to maneuver me into giving them some favor or another or trying to get their daughters into my bed.” He waited for Meera to stop laughing. “And as for the birds, spring has come. That’s something worth singing about I think,” and he grinned at her.  


Meera twirled one of the crocuses she’d picked in her fingers “Aye, spring has come.”  


“What are you going to do with those?” While still mild his voice was so much lower than it had been when she’d first known him. Meera found herself becoming increasingly aware of things like that.  


“I’m not sure” she lied.  


He sighed, “Now that spring’s here you can go home.”  


“Home?” Meera breathed in the sweet air of Winterfell’s godswood and closed her eyes, picturing Greywater. She could not fully remember the last spring but she did remember the flowers, how fast and high the streams could flow. “Yes, I suppose I must return.”  


“When will you leave?” Bran asked. “I should like to ensure that this time your journey is safe and comfortable.”  


“That is very kind of you Bran. I was of a mind to leave after the festival is ended.”  


He nodded slowly and went back to telling her about the frustrations of being king. He’d gotten in the habit of doing that and she’d already heard most of his complaints. He was avoiding something, she knew. _Best let him get to it in his own way_ she thought so she continued working on tying the crocuses together into the wreath.  


When the wreath was finished Meera only took a moment to admire her handiwork before setting it on Bran’s head. “There,” she said. “I’ve made a new crown for you, my king.”  


He touched it and glanced at his reflection, “It’s certainly lighter than my other crown.”  


“Good, I’d hope crocuses weigh less than gold.”  


“These will wilt though.”  


Meera shrugged, “Then I’ll make you a new one.”  


“You could make one for yourself too.” His words had a strange weight behind them and Meera saw his reflection begin to blush.  


She looked up at the real Bran. He was blushing, and she tried to keep her breathing steady. This was not the first time he’d looked at her like that, she’d known he’d felt _something_ towards her since he was still a boy. Only more recently – she could not quite say when, if it was while they were all still trapped in Lord Brynden’s cave, or when she’d been sharing furs with him on the journey south, or after she’d returned to Winterfell – she’d begun to feel that something towards him too. Meera did not want to tell him that though. She was too old for him, and too poor. She was her father’s eldest child, her sister was still just a girl, and Bran would surely find someone else to affix his gaze to before long. He’d choose one of them for a bride, surely.  


He was still staring at her, his eyes were such lovely blue pools. She could get lost in those eyes. “Did I say something wrong?” He asked.  


“Uh” Meera searched for something to say, pulling herself out of his eyes. “Why do you think I’d want one?”  


He looked taken aback, “Forgive me, my lady. I just – I thought because you made one for me… you’d look even more beautiful –”  


“More beautiful than you?” She teased.  


Bran’s face was very red now, “Than you already are.”  


“You think I’m beautiful.”  


“Yes,” Bran ducked his head back down, desperately looking anywhere than at her.  


Meera’s mouth felt dry, “Thank you, my king.”  


“It’s true.” Bran straightened, plucked the crown of crocuses off his head and held it in front of him. “You don’t have to go home.”  


“I know that.”  


Bran leaned towards her and set the crocus crown on her head, “There, queen of the spring” his voice was soft and he was beginning to blush again.  


Meera looked at her reflection in the pool and touched the wreath lightly, “Until the flowers wilt.”  


“I thought you said you can make more wreaths. There are lots of flowers.”  


Bran had never been this bold before. “Are you drunk, Bran?”  


He gave her a puzzled look, “If I am it’s on the spring air.” He stopped and bit his lip, “I suppose I am being bold. It’s just – you’re leaving again. And I don’t want you to go. I hate being apart from you.”  


“I don’t much like being away from you if I’m honest.”  


Her reply seemed to give Bran some more boldness. “I’ve been told that a king needs a queen.”  


Meera’s heart thudded in her chest, she nodded at him and took a deep breath. “That’s true.”  


Bran shifted towards her and grabbed her hand, “Would you be mine?”  


His eyes were so eager and earnest, and blue like the sky. Meera wanted to lose herself in them. “Me?”  


“Of course you.”  


“Bran,” she said quietly, “Surely there’s someone else. A daughter of one of your lords –”  


“ _You’re_ one of my lords’ daughters.”  


“Yes but my house is small and poor.”  


Bran snorted, “And you think that will change my mind?”  


“It might.”  


He pulled her hand closer to him, wrapping it in both of his. “Meera, it doesn’t matter to me how powerful your family is – and I would remind you that your house is _not_ insignificant – and by all traditions you are perfectly suitable to be my bride. More than that you are my dearest friend. I’ve loved you for as long as I’ve known you I think,” He swallowed, “and if not for you I would be dead. I owe you my life Meera Reed, and I offer you my heart as well”  


Meera’s head felt light. Bran’s grip on her hand was firm and his eyes were earnest. His eyes were so blue. She licked her dry lips, “I –” her eyes fell to his lips. They looked damp and pink and she wanted to kiss them.  


Before she could rethink her actions Meera put her free hand on the back of Bran’s neck and pulled his head to hers. The kiss was quick, their lips barely brushing against each other. Meera’s stomach fluttered and her heart pounded. She tried to pull Bran in closer, to kiss him firmly but Bran leaned in too far and nearly lost his balance. She pushed him back until he was steady and kissed him again. It was better the second time, and the third, and again and again.  


After the spring festival Bran rode with Meera all the way to the point where the Winterfell road met the Kingsroad. When it came time to part she kissed him for the last time that morning, not caring that his family and guards and her escort were right there watching them. She turned back to look only once. Bran was still there, watching her depart. They were too far apart to see each other’s faces but he raised his hand in farewell. She waved back vigorously and turned in her saddle to face the road ahead of her. She’d be back again come the harvest. She'd be back to stay.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this half-assed fic! It never really stuck with my original outline and this chapter was especially frustrating for me to write. I hope you're more satisfied with it than I am.  
> Please let me know what you think in the comments! (please, please, pretty please with a cherry on top)


End file.
